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COPYRIGHT, 1912, 

By R. F. Fenno & Company 


gCI.A320763 


At the Manor 


At the Manor 


When The British Held the Hudson 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I A Highway Bobbery 9 

II On the Battery 19 

III A Belated Picnic 23 

IV Virginia to the Rescue 29 

V A Startling Letter 34 

VI A Memorable Sunday 42 

VII The Cruise op the Katydid 49 

VIII Richard Carroll 57 

IX A Youthful Secretary 62 

X Captured by the Enemy 67 

XI A Brave Demand 73 

XII An Unwelcome Furlough 78 

XIII An Interrupted Nutting Party 88 

XIV A Grateful Enemy 93 

XV ^‘Home, Robin! Home!'’ 98 

XVI A Terrifying Threat 114 

XVII A New Device 118 

XVIII Two Hapless Redcoats 130 

XIX Jeems Jubah's Treaty 137 

XX Routed Again 143 

XXI The Taking op the Fort 151 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII The Traitor 158 

XXIII At the Half-Way Oak 165 

XXIV A Sudden Call 171 

XXV The Daughter of the Kegiment. . . . 178 

XXVI A Serenade 188 

XXVII In the Second Ward 195 

XXVIII Grave Problems 203 

XXIX The Giant’s Promise 208 

XXX Tv7o Self-Appointed Carriers 215 

XXXI A Third Guest 226 

XXXII A Wayside Happening 230 

XXXIII ^‘Look! the Flag!” 237 

XXXIV A Midnight Confession 243 

XXXV Lady Washington 248 

XXXVT A Startling Revelation 255 

XXXVII The Return of the Exiles 264 

XXXVIII An Unaccountable Blunder 272 

XXXIX An Uninvited Wedding Guest 280 


AT THE MANOR 


I 

A HIGHWAY ROBBERY 

The little mistress of the manor was Virginia Theo- 
dosia Culpepper Sprague, and it happened in this way 
that she came by so long a name : 

Fourteen years, or thereabout, before the opening bat- 
tle of the Revolution Major Sprague and his young wife 
went to Virginia to spend a few weeks at Culpepper 
Hall. As a rule, the two families exchanged visits an- 
nually, for in addition to the fact that Colonel Culpep- 
per and the major had fought side by side in the closing 
years of the French and Indian War, old General Cul- 
pepper and the major ^s father had been lifelong 
friends — and in those days family friendships were an 
inheritance and hospitality ranked as a cardinal virtue. 

They went early in the autumn — the major and his 
wife — leaving their little son Harold with his Aunt 
Vanderbeek in New York, and were intending to re- 
turn before the weather became uncomfortably cold. 
But winter set in that year a full month before the 
time predicted in “Poor Richard’s Almanac,” with 
snowfalls that made the old post-road almost impas- 
sable in places, and after waiting a month for more 
favorable conditions they were prevailed on to tarry 
0 


10 


At the Manor 


until spring. And thus it changed that the stately 
Culpepper mansion became their little daughter’s 
birthplace. 

‘‘And since, like little Virginia Dare, she was borr. 
in Virginia,” said Colonel Culpepper, “why not let 
Virginia be her name?” 

“It is a name that hath a witching sound,” said 
Mrs. Sprague, smiling with a young mother’s pride on 
the baby, “and it would always be a reminder of our 
happy sojourn with you.” 

“Ay, and it fits our little lass right well,” added 
Major Sprague. “But we’ll pray a kindlier fate for 
her and for ourselves than befell the other Virginia 
and her friends.” 

“Oh, there’s been many another Virginia,” the col- 
onel reminded him cheerfully ; ‘ ‘ and, though the name 
is complete in itself, in honor of her godmother we 
must add Theodosia Culpepper. It seems hardly fair 
to impose such a burden on so small a bit of humanity, 
but she will grow to it in time.” 

And on both her silver cup and the spoon that went 
with it — ^the gifts of Madam Culpepper and himself at 
the christening — he had the four names engraved, 
with no abbreviations: Virginia Theodosia Culpepper 
Sprague. 

“If we but had a son,” he said regretfully, “we 
might hope to unite the families eventually by a still 
stronger tie. There’s our nephew, little Dick Carroll, 
though — he is almost like a son to us, and the differ- 
ence in their ages won’t count for much fifteen or 
twenty years hence. Besides, he, too, is our godchild.” 


A Highway Robbery 


11 


“Well, Dick’s a fine youngster, and we’d feel mightily 
honored in the alliance,” the major answered, with his 
mellow laugh. “It’s a long look ahead, hut stranger 
things than that have happened.” 

Another gift made to the baby was a young colored 
girl. Her name was Susan, but, owing to the fact that 
there were two other Susans in the retinue of servants, 
she was known in the family as “Sis Sue.” Virginia 
Theodosia was in need of a nurse, and the colonel and 
Madam Culpepper seeing that Sis Sue and the little 
one had taken a great liking to each other thought it 
a pity to separate them. 

“Though scarcely in her teens,” said Madam Cul- 
pepper, “she is very capable and as devoted as a collie 
to those she loves.” 

“Oh, I know she will prove a treasure,” said Mrs. 
Sprague, “but ” 

“Now that settles it,” interrupted her friend. “We 
can easily spare her, and if you are satisfied I am sure 
Virginia will have no fault to find. Hark! She is 
speaking for herself. Only listen to her.” For Vir- 
ginia, in her cradle, with her yellow ringlets cropping 
from her close Dutch cap, was cooing merrily. 

“That shows conclusively that she approves of the 
arrangement,” declared her godmother. 

And when at last the sojourners set their faces north- 
ward Sis Sue proudly took her place in the coach, with 
the little one nestled in her arms. 

Because of a rumor that the stage a few days before 
had been attacked by highwaymen, Colonel Culpepper, 
to safely speed the parting guests, escorted them in his 


12 


At the Manor 


own carriage, with a mounted bodyguard of twenty of 
his men, until the spot where the onset was said to 
have occurred had been left many miles behind. 

Remember,’’ he enjoined, as he gave Virginia a 
farewell kiss, ^^she is our little goddaughter and we 
shall want to see her every year..” 

*^Ay, we must keep up the visits,” responded the 
major. But — ‘‘Man proposes, and God disposes.” 

For two days the travelers journeyed unmolested 
through mountain passes and deep dim woods — woods 
where never an axe had broken the brooding silence — 
and again between wide fields where, in some, the 
young corn was beginning to tilt its slender lances, 
while in others the wheat, like an emerald sea, was 
rippling in the sunshine. 

But the third day, in the heart of woods that were a 
veritable “Black Forest,” they encountered a tempest 
that lashed the overhanging trees till the way was 
strewn with the fallen branches, and its fury was not 
yet spent when the driver was set upon by two masked 
men, while a third — a giant in height — forced open the 
stage door. 

The afternoon had hardly begun to wane, yet it was 
so dark inside the coach that it was no easy matter for 
the robber to make out what it held that was worth 
his taking, but he pounced at once on a big leather bag 
that Sis Sue was vainly struggling to cover with her 
narrow skirts. Then a carefully guarded bundle on 
Mrs. Sprague’s knee caught his prying eye, and thrust- 
ing aside the major, who had drawn his sword and was 


A Highway Robbery 


13 


doing his best to oust him, he clutched it with a vice- 
like grip. But from the bundle came a protesting cry ; 
at the same instant the thud of hoofs was heard on the 
rain-gullied road, and, dropping his squirming booty, 
the fellow took to his heels, his confederates scurrying 
after him. 

Except for the shelter of the woods it might have 
gone hard with the bandits, for scarcely were they off 
the highway when a squad of soldiers dashed up. 
Whence they came, the grateful passengers never 
knew, for after keeping beside the stage until it 
reached the inn that was to be the stopping place for 
the night, they put spurs to their horses and splashed 
off through the mud in the opposite direction. 

But the giant in making his escape had carried with 
him the leather bag, and in it were Virginians cup and 
spoon. 

‘‘He is welcome to them ten times over, so long as 
he has left us the baby,n' said her father, while her 
mother and Sis Sue were deploring the loss. 

“Oh, a thousand times over,nn cried Mrs. Sprague, 
hugging the little one to her heart. 

Yet for many a year after she was old enough to 
understand it, Virginia, her resentment kindled by Sis 
Sue’s lurid description of the robbery, nursed a fierce 
desire to be revenged on the cruel man that had de- 
frauded her of her christening gifts. 

When they reached New York the travelers were 
easily induced to tarry awhile, being in sore need of 
rest after the many hardships of their journey, and 
this gave them an opportunity to send word to Oak 


14 


At the Manor 


Glade by Captain Simpson, the jolly skipper of the 
little sloop, the Katydid, that they expected to take 
passage with him on his next trip up the river. Con- 
sequently, when, the following week, they landed at 
the manor, they found Mrs. Jason, the housekeeper, 
and Mammy Ann, the cook, with Jeems Jubah and the 
twins and the entire force of field hands, waiting on 
the lawn to welcome them. 

After the greetings, however, the master and mis- 
tress became a minor consideration. Even Harold, who 
had hitherto held the undivided allegiance of the house- 
hold, received scant notice, every one was so eager to 
have a look at the baby. But the little maid’s name 
proved a big mouthful for some of them. 

dunno ez we’uns ’ll ebeh git to say it wight, bein’ 
dah’s sech a lot ob it,” complained Jeems Jubah. ‘‘Wy- 
ginny Feedoshy Culpeppy Spague ! Hi ! hi ! hi ! ” And 
down went his head for a somersault. 

The twins, Cicero and Cato, tried hard to repeat it 
after him — they always tried to do whatever Jeems 
Jubah did, though eight years younger than he — but 
“Wyginny Feedoshy” was the most that they could 
master, and seeing Jeems Jubah ’s heels in the air they 
too went down on their heads. They were undersized 
little fellows, and, as the years went by, the lessening 
prospect of their ever matching the big brother in 
height was a sore trial to them. But they were as 
agile as monkeys and quite as much prone to capers. 
Mammy Ann often had her hands full to keep them 
within bounds, but the worst whipping she could give 
them was never half so efficacious as the threat to tell 


A Highway Robbery 15 

‘‘Miss Wyginny’^ of their misdemeanors. Virginia’s 
word was law to them, and they would have gone 
through fire and water to serve her. 

She was now a tall slim girl — tall for her age — and 
during all the years that has passed since that memor- 
able home-coming she had never visited her birthplace. 
This had been partly due to her mother’s diread of 
their being again attacked by highwaymen, and partly 
to the fact that the unsettled state of the colonies made 
the major feel that he must hold himself ready for any 
emergency. For similar reasons. Colonel Culpepper 
and his wife had thought it prudent to discontinue 
their annual northern journey ; and, hence, their letters 
were all that kept them in touch with their little god- 
daughter. But into these letters they put so much of 
themselves that Virginia was convinced that no matter 
where or when she might chance to meet them no in- 
troduction would be needed. Besides, her mother and 
Sis Sue had so often described them to her that she 
carried in her mind a picture of them as “true to life” 
as one of Stuart’s portraits, — ^the Colonel wearing a long 
blue coat, with knee-breeches and silver-buckled shoes, 
his powdered hair confined with a black ribbon in a 
tidy queue — she could see it all, even to the courtly 
bow with which he passed his ebony snuff-box, as 
clearly as if he were standing before her — and at his 
side was Madam Culpepper in her brocade gown and 
dainty laces, with her hair, powdered like the colonel’s, 
piled high above her delicate face. It was a picture 
she loved, for she was a warm-hearted little girl and 
her loyalty to her friends was never lessened by their 


i6 


At the Manor 


absence. She was honest-hearted, too, to the core, and 
her earnest eyes made you feel that she would do her 
duty though the skies fell. By nature she was full of 
life and merriment, but when she was only nine years 
old her mother died, and at times her face grew sad 
and wistful and she would wander sorrowfully through 
the silent rooms of the old Manor house, for the fairest- 
home in the world is a lonesome place for a little lass 
without a mother. 

Happily, her father understood this, and, with Har- 
old away at school, he seldom left her long to herself. 
Many a lively canter they had, he on Red Robin and 
she on either Blinkers or old Whiteface, and many a 
brisk tramp, up hill and down dale, with Pepper frisk- 
ing beside them ; and sometimes in the winter evenings 
she would play for him on the spinet some of the 
hymns that her mother had loved, with now and again 
something sprightly enough to bring a smile to his 
serious face. Even when he was at his desk he liked 
to have her near him, for she was not given to chat- 
tering; and this loving comradeship made the manor 
doubly lonely for her when his fellow patriots robbed 
her of him. It seemed to the little maid that they were 
very inconsiderate, but he was one whose word carried 
weight in the councils of the colonies, and hence he was 
often unexpectedly called from home to take part in 
the discussion of plans for the safety of the country. 

Of late, however, when he found that he was likely 
to be long away, he arranged to have her spend the 
time with her relatives in New York, and these visits 
were so enjoyable that sometimes she had to take her- 


A Highway Robbery 


17 


self to task for not being altogether sorry, as it seemed 
her duty to be, over the separation that brought them 
about. But the major harbored no jealousy — he knew 
too well who held the first place in her heart. He 
knew, too, that in her uncle’s house she had just the 
companionship she needed, for her aunt was a mother 
in her tenderness toward her, while she and her cousin 
Catalyntie could scarcely have loved each other better 
had they been sisters, and the lamentations of her prim 
governess, Miss Sabrina Hopkins, over these frequent 
breaks in her studies did not influence him in the least. 
Twice within six months he had been called to Phila- 
delphia, and on both occasions Virginia had staid at 
her aunt’s during his absence. Since then, there had 
come the startling news of the battle of Lexington, and 
a few weeks later he was summoned to Massachusetts. 

“We’ll go at once to New York by carriage,” he 
said, * ‘ and from there Robin and I will take the Boston 
Post Road to Charleston.” 

But, finding that the business in hand required him 
to go first to Albany, he decided to send her to the 
city, with Sis Sue on the Katydid, knowing that Cap- 
tain Simpson would be as watchful as himself for her 
safety and comfort, and that her uncle would meet her 
at the landing. 

The first plan would have suited her much better, 
for in making the trip by water one could never count 
definitely on the length of time it would consume — 
sometimes when the wind was contrary or, worse still, 
when it went to a dead calm, it took from two to three 
days. Besides, it was going to cheat her of her father’s 


i8 


At the Manor 


companionship. But whichever way she went, the same 
loving welcome would be in store for her; and, with 
this thought warming her heart, she accepted the 
change with a fair degree of resignation. 


II 


ON THE BATTERY 

“So your father has gone to New England,” said 
Dr. Vanderbeek, settling himself beside her in his com- 
fortable old chaise, and leaving his man Josephus to 
look after Sis Sue and the baggage. 

“Yes, Uncle Barent, and it is so far off that I don^t 
like to think of it” Virginia answered, with a catch in 
her throat. 

“Ah, it is not the distance I^m thinking of,” he said, 
with a slow flap of the lines. And during the remainder 
of the drive he was so silent and preoccupied that she 
had not the courage to speak again. 

“He is greatly troubled about the state of the coun- 
try,” said her cousin, when, in the course of the day, 
Virginia, fearing that she might have offended him in 
some way, ventured to unburden her mind. 

Catalyntie, though only fifteen, was so sensible and' 
womanly that even her father had respect for her 
judgment and often advised Madam Vanderbeek to 
“see what Catalyntie thought about it” when some 
question of importance anent household matters came 
up; and now when she went on to say that he was 
afraid that the high-handed doings of the British in 
Boston were going to make more battles necessary if 
the people wanted to protect their rights, Virginia knew 


20 


At the Manor 


that she agreed with him, and, as she too had the ut- 
most confidence in her judgment she was at once con- 
vinced that her uncle had good reason for being 
troubled. 

And indeed he had, for this was in the year 1775 — 
a year when the colonies were making history for two 
countries faster than men could find time to write it. 

‘‘Perhaps that is what has taken father to Massa- 
chusetts,’’ she said, her eyes beginning to cloud. 

Just then there was a burst of martial music in 
front of the house, and the girls, turning to the win- 
dow, saw a body of gallant-looking men marching by, 
with their guns and bayonets gleaming like polished 
silver. They made a fine display, and every porch 
and casement the length of the street was alive with 
eager faces and fluttering handkerchiefs. 

“They are the ‘Sons of Liberty,’ ” Catalyntie in- 
formed her, “and father says they are the truest pa- 
triots in the city. Oh, here’s father himself,” she said, 
running to the door. 

And now the preoccupied look had vanished from 
Dr. Vanderbeek’s face, and he put his arm around 
Virginia, and called her “little daughter,” saying that 
they were going to keep her for a good long visit. 
And the “little daughter” at that was ready to dance 
for joy. 

A few minutes later Harold and his friend Ted 
Stuyvesant dashed in. Their school was but a short 
distance from the city, and learning through a letter 
from Major Sprague that Virginia was expected at 
her uncle’s that day, they had come post haste to see 
her. 


On the Battery 21 

Prom the beginning of their school life, the two' 
boys had been chums, and as Ted, with no nearer 
relative than a grandmother, was Major Sprague’s 
ward, the larger part of his vacations was generally 
spent at the manor. 

Virginia was overjoyed to see them, and her delight 
reached its climax when her aunt invited them to stay 
until evening. 

The weather had been oppressively warm, and after 
supper — the sun still being a good bit above the hori- 
zon — Madam Vanderbeek suggested that a walk might 
be refreshing. 

In spite of the growing conviction that the continuance 
of the conflict with England was inevitable, life in the 
cheerful Dutch city seemed to be going on pretty much 
as was its wont at that hour in summer. Kosy little 
maids in quaint-cut frocks and caps were trundling their 
hoops through the streets and rollicking urchins were 
sliding down the cellar doors, while strolling along the 
Battery, enjoying the ocean breeze, were scores of older 
pleasure-seekers, for the Battery, in the cool of the day, 
was a favorite resort, and one could always count on an 
interchange of greetings with relatives and friends. But 
now and then from somewhere in the neighborhood came 
the strains of fife and bugle, making old and young alike 
fall in step to the measure — ^‘Marching as for war.” 

‘‘It sounds like a battle cry,” said Harold. “I won- 
der if they have any later word from Boston.” 

At that minute Colonel Marinus Willets overtook 
them, and bowing hastily to Madam Vanderbeek and 
the young folk, he slipped his arm through the doc- 


22 


At the Manor 


tor's and forged ahead with him, talking earnestly, 
bnt in a voice too low for the others to catch the words. 
By that time the sun had set. 

‘‘Come, children, we must be going back," said 
Madam Vanderbeek. “We'll not wait for father. He 
and the colonel are no doubt discussing something of 
importance and won't care to be disturbed." 

The “children" turned reluctantly, for when hearts 
are young and June is queen regnant of the land, the wit- 
chery of twilight makes the out-door world an en- 
chanted realm, but as Catalyntie at once faced about 
the rest followed without protest, and it was a full 
half hour before Dr. Vanderbeek discovered that he 
had been deserted by his family, so absorbed had he 
been in Colonel Willets' budget of information. Even 
then the colonel was unwilling to let go his arm, and 
when at last he reached home he had a great piece of 
news to tell. General Wooster had unexpectedly ar- 
rived with an army of volunteers from Connecticut and 
was already in camp just outside the city, and as the 
British garrison had been ordered to Boston to rein- 
force General Gage, the “Sons of Liberty" felt that 
for the present New York was comparatively safe. 


Ill 


A BELATED PICNIC 

The next day was Catalyntie’s birthday anniversary, 
and to celebrate it Madam Vanderbeek had proposed 
a drive through the city to let Virginia see the gardens 
that everywhere just then were gay with the dear old- 
fashioned flowers that make the glory of June, and 
after that they were to have their luncheon in the 
woods on Brooklyn Heights where Doctor Vander- 
beek was to join them. 

They meant to take an early start, but Josephus, 
with that senseless procrastination to which many be- 
sides coachmen are addicted, had put off imtil the last 
minute the mending of a break in the harness that for 
a week had needed attention, and when he finally 
brought the carriage to the door Madam Vanderbeek ’s 
patience had given place to vexation. 

‘ ‘ Only see, J osephus, how much time you have made 
us lose, ’ ’ she said, with all the severity she could com- 
mand. ‘‘Here we have been waiting on the stoop a 
full hour.’’ 

“Yez’m an’ I’s dwefful sohwy,” Josephus owned 
sheepishly, knowing very well that he merited the repri- 
mand, “but I is n’ shuh ’bout de wis’om ob yo’ uns 
gwine ’t all dis mo’nin, kaze Gunnel Willets’ Polio he 
cum along jes’ now, an’ he say dem Birtish am gittin’ 


At the Manor 


24 

weddy to disbawk on de Ashey, an’ dat be should n’ 
be s’p wised if deb was some stuhbances, fo’ deb’s a 
big quowd gadderin’ to see ^em off, an’ if de bosses 
got skeered I do’n know ez I’d be able to hoi’ ’em — 
I’s kinder got de womatiz in dat wite ahm today.” 

‘‘Oh, the horses are not easily frightened,” pro- 
tested Calatyntie. “I could manage them myself if it 
were necessary.” 

“We’ll venture it, Josephus,” said Madam Vander- 
beek, knowing what a disappointment it would be to 
the girls to have to give up the outing. Besides, she 
felt confident that had there been any probability of 
an outbreak between the citizens and the soldiers her 
husband would have warned her; and telling Josephus 
what streets they wanted to take in, she settled back 
with a sigh, wondering audibly whether his sudden 
attack of rheumatism ought to enlist her sympathy. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, mother,” said Catalyn- 
tie, with a wise smile. “You can never be quite sure 
of Josephus when he scents trouble of any sort, for he 
hasn’t a very stiff backbone, and possibly his friend 
Polio has purposely worked on his fears. At all events, 
we can see for ourselves whether he is right or not 
before changing our plan.” 

The air was full of the fragrance of early summer, and 
with its wealth of greenery and bloom the little city 
was a veritable bowery. It was noticeably quiet, too, 
and except that the shops stood open one might readily 
have been persuaded that it was Sunday. 

But when finally they turned to go to the ferry the 
quiet was broken abruptly by a babel of excited voices. 


A Belated Picnic 


25, 

and they saw that just ahead of them the street was 
blocked with men and vehicles. 

*^Wait a moment, Josephus, till the crowd moves 
on,’’ said Madam Vanderbeek. 

But the crowd seemed to have no intention of moving 
on. In fact, it was fast increasing, and suddenly while 
they were debating what to do, a heavy truck collided 
with the carriage, giving it such a lurch that J osephus 
was tumbled from the box. 

‘^What is to become of us?” cried Madam Vander- 
beek, for the horses were rearing and plunging at a 
rate that threatened destruction to everything within 
reach of their hoofs. 

‘‘Don’t be frightened, mother,” soothed Catalyntie, 
and springing forward and grasping the reins, she 
called the frightened animals by name, and though it 
took all her strength to hold them, at the sound of her 
voice they ceased prancing. It was only a brief re- 
spite, however, for another cart was crowding into 
them, and but for her skillful management the car- 
riage would have been overturned. 

“0 my child! do call some man to help you,” en- 
treated Madam Vanderbeek, for the horses were again 
on their haunches. 

But the girl kept a firm grip on the lines and once 
more her calm voice won the victory. 

Virginia, who during the drive had been bubbling 
over with delight, sat now with tight-locked fingers try- 
ing not to add in any way to her aunt’s fright, and 
wondering if it would ever be possible for her to be as 
brave as Catalyntie. 


26 


At the Manor 


The carriage had halted at the corner of Beaver 
Street, and presently, to their fresh dismay, they dis- 
covered that they were directly in the line of march 
of the British troops on their way to the Asia, 

The crowd grew more dense, hedging them in on 
every side, and none s-eemed able to quell the tumult 
of belligerent shouts and curses. 

But at intervals an aspiring donkey harnessed to a 
fish wagon near the carriage gave vent to his senti- 
ments with a vehemence that for the moment sub- 
merged all minor sounds and sent Virginia into such 
paroxysms of laughter that even Madam Vanderbeek’s 
troubled face relaxed into a smile. 

Meanwhile, Josephus, once more on the box, was do- 
ing what he could to supplement Catalyn tie’s control of 
the horses, but he wore the look of one that felt him- 
self vindicated, and Madam Vanderbeek’s outspoken 
regret for her folly in refusing to act on his advice did 
not tend to lessen his complacency. 

“We ought at least to have waited until the street 
was clear,” she said, seeing no way out of the jam. 

But in the midst of her distress she caught sight of 
her husband making for the carriage. 

“If I had forseen anything like this,” he said, when 
at last he had worked a passage through the throng, 
“I’d have sent you word not to start, but since we are 
here we must bide our time. Colonel Willets has re- 
ceived information that the British are about to em- 
bark on the Asia, and intend taking with them to Bos- 
ton six carloads of firearms belonging to the colony. 
As they have no permission to do this he has given the 


A Belated Picnic 


27 


alarm, and that is what has caused all this commotion. 
Here they come, the whole six, with the troops follow- 
ing! Ay! And there ^s Colonel Willets himself, and 
Colonel Cortenins, too!’’ 

With that the occupants of the carriage leaned for- 
ward to watch proceedings, too eager and excited to 
think of danger, for Colonel Willets, seizing the lead- 
ing horse by the head, had brought the entire column 
fo a stop and was boldly telling the commanding officer 
that no permit had been granted for the removal of the 
arms. And when the officer angrily disputed the col- 
ony’s right to them the colonel sprung upon the cart 
and appealed to the citizens for aid, declaring that the 
weapons should not be taken to be used against their 
struggling brethren in Massachusetts. 

‘Hf the soldiers,” he shouted, ‘^desire to join in the 
bloody business that is transacting near Boston we are 
ready to meet them on the sanguine field ; but if any of 
them feel a repugnance to the unnatural work and will 
leave the enemy’s ranks they shall be protected.” 
Then, leaping to the ground amid a round of cheers, 
he led the line of carts into Beaver Street. And with 
him sheltered by the crowd, marched several of the 
enemy’s men. 

‘‘Wasn’t that grand!” exclaimed Virginia. 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Catalyntie. “We are well 
repaid for being cheated out of our picnic.” 

“It isn’t yet too late to cross the ferry,” said her 
father, “now that the disturbance is over.” 

But Madam Vanderbeek’s nerves had been so badly 
shaken that she begged to go home at once. 


28 


At the Manor 


Then Catalyntie had a happy thought. We ’ll have 
our picnic in the garden,” she said. 

So the luncheon was spread under the cherry trees. 
They were in full bloom and it was like feasting in a 
white bower, but the girls though hungry enough to 
dispose of an unlimited amount of biscuits and goose- 
berry tarts could talk of nothing but the exciting 
events of the morning. 

^‘What’s the matter with your other hand, daugh- 
ter?” asked the Doctor, seeing that Catalyntie was 
using only her left hand in doing the honors as hostess ; 
and though she tried to make light of it, he insisted on 
having a look at it. 

^‘Colonel Willets’ was not the only courageous deed 
done today,” he commented, ‘‘and he has no wounds 
to show for it, while here are two cruel blisters. ’ ’ 

“The reins must have done that,” said Madam Van- 
derbeek. “It’s a wonder she wasn’t killed, Barent, 
with Josephus off the box and the horses pawing the 
air.” 

“You dear! whispered Virginia, pressing her cheek 
to the blistered hand. “You were so fearless and help- 
ful, and I did nothing.” 

“Indeed you did a great deal, you and mother,” 
said Catalyntie. “You both sat still, and in time of 
danger to sit still is often the hardest and bravest 
thing that any one can do.” 


IV 


VIRGINIA TO THE RESCUE 

‘‘Put away your work, girls, and we’ll go down to the 
Battery,” said Madame Vanderbeek, one morning a day 
or two later. “There is only one June in the year and it 
behooves us to make the most of it. ’ ’ 

The girls at once dropped the samplers on which 
they had been diligently beading for an hour, and ran 
for their hats. 

It was too early for many to be walking for enjoyment, 
and the place was as quiet as a village green during 
school time. 

“Ah, this is when I like it best,” said Madam Van- 
derbeek, seating herself on one of the benches. “It 
gives one a chance to drink in the sunshine and at the 
same time do a little thinking.” 

But the girls were not in a meditative mood, and 
seeing that she was comfortable they strolled to the 
shore. 

In the distance two larg-e vessels were passing. “How 
stately and beautiful they look,” remarked Virginia. 

“Yes,” Catalyntie admitted, “but they are British 
warships, and we have no admiration to waste on 
them.” 

“What, out pleasuring in the morning?” asked some 
one at her elbow. 


30 


At the Manor 


‘^Why, Aunt Brinckerhoff !’’ she cried. Where, 
pray, do you hail from at this time o’ day?” 

have just arrived from Oak Glade Village, my 
dears,” said her aunt, giving them each a kiss, “and 
no wonder you are surprised at seeing me here, for I 
ought to be at your mother’s, but the stupid driver I 
engaged to take me there when I landed brought me 
this round-about way and then had a breakdown, leav- 
ing me to finish the journey on foot, and the Battery 
looked so inviting I thought I’d stop to rest a minute.” 

“But why isn’t Katharine with you?” inquired Cata- 
lyntie, taking possession of her portmanteau. 

“Katharine is a little under the weather, and it’s on 
her account that I came to town, for I’m hoping that 
your father may be able to recommend something that 
will help her. But half her trouble is loneliness, she 
misses Bob so. He has been for two months now with 
the Continentals at Cambridge, and it’s the first time 
they were ever separated.” 

“Oh, Bob will be coming home as soon as this rum- 
pus with England ends,” said Catalyntie with comfort- 
ing conviction. “Mother’s sitting over yonder in the 
shade, and if she hasn’t already spied you we’ll give 
her a surprise. She has been longing this many a day 
for a visit from you.” 

“And I’ve been longing to come,” said her aunt, 
“but the truth is we are all quaking in our shoes, it 
would be so easy a matter for the enemy to swoop down 
on us if they thought it worth while. Some of our 
friends in Pishkill are already talking of taking refuge 
inland, the riverside places are so exposed, and the 


yirginia to the Rescue 


31 


Swarts and DePeysters have actually begun to pack 
their valuables. But Mr. DePeyster says that for him- 
self if worst come to worst, he will turn the house 
into a fortress and stand by his guns. And cousin Der- 
rick Brinckerhoff declares that come what may, he is 
not going to desert his mills.” 

They had started to join Madam Vanderbeek, and 
Catalyntie was so intent on what her aunt was saying 
that she failed to hear the sound that sent Virginia 
flying back. Two children that had been playing near 
them had climbed into a dory lying at the water ^s 
edge, and with pieces of driftwood for oars, pretended 
to be rowing. Virginia had been watching them while 
Catalyntie and her aunt were talking, and when a 
heavy splash caught her ear she knew at once what 
had happened, — they had set the dory afloat. 

The older girl managed to scramble out before it was 
fairly launched, but the other, a rosy-cheeked little 
maid, with a mass of tawny curls blowing about her 
forehead, pulled on unconscious of danger. 

The wind was oif shore, and though Virginia ran 
like a deer, the boat had drifted several yards before 
she could reach the spot where it had been beached. 
It was no time now to ‘‘sit still.” Something must be 
done on the instant, and, tossing aside her hat, she 
plunged in. She was a good swimmer but the boat 
was steadily receding. 

“Stop paddling, little girl, and throw me the rope,” 
she called. And the child, seeing the bright young face 
bobbing up between the waves, dropped the driftwood 


At the Manor 


32 

pars and with a roguish laugh threw the end of the 
painter over the bow. 

By this time Catalyntie and Mrs. Brinckerhoff, hav- 
ing heard Virginia's shout, were hurrying to her help. 

‘Tome back, come back," they entreated. 

“We're coming," answered the mermaid. “We'll 
be with you in a minute if my passenger will only keep 
quiet." 

Just then a plump motherly-looking woman was seen 
bearing down on them. 

“Doshy! Doshy! What have you been doin' now?" 
she cried as soon as she could make herself heard. 
“She’s a good child, ladies," she added, “but al’ays 
that venturous that I never know what new trouble 
she’ll be gittin' into. I left her playin’ in the sand 
whilst I went to buy some snuff an’ tobacky fer my ol’ 
man, an' here she is makin’ that young miss risk her 
life for her an’ takin’ the heart out o' me with the 
fright of it." 

She had begun to slip off her shoes, but Virginia was 
now so near shore that she needed no assistance, and 
the next minute the little culprit was hiding her face 
in her mother’s apron. 

“Oh, an’ you're right to be 'shamed o' yo’self, you 
naughty young un!" chided the woman, giving her in 
the same breath a smothering hug. “An' look at the 
poor young lady what saved you — she a'mos’ 
drownded an’ you dry as a board! Go make yo’ man- 
ners to her, Doshy, an’ tell her how sorry you air." 

“Oh, she didn't mean to be naughty," said Virginia. 
And the child, feeling herself absolved, ran back to her 


Yirginia to the Rescue 


33 


mother, too abashed to open her lips, for now Catalyntie 
and Mrs. Brinckerhoff had Virginia in hand and, one 
on either side, were wringing the water from her skirts. 

‘‘Well, well, Charlotte ! This is a pretty welcome for 
yon,^^ cried Madam Vanderbeek, who, seeing that some- 
thing was wrong, had made haste to join them. “But 
don’t keep her standing there in the wind another min- 
ute. She’ll take her death o’ cold.” 

“Oh, salt water never hurts one, Aunt Evelina,” 
laughed Virginia. 

“That depends,” said Madam Vanderbeek. 

“Here, Virginia, this will cover you from head to 
foot,” said Mrs. Brinckerhoff, catching up her traveling 
cloak and wrapping it around the dripping heroine. 

“Virginny! Is yo’ name Virginny, little Miss?” 
asked the woman eagerly. 

But the others marched Virginia off, leaving the 
stranger gazing after them with a disappointed face. 

“I wished I knowed her hull name an’ how ol’ she 
is,” she said, taking the child by the hand. “I shouldn’ 
wonder, Doshy, if she’s yo’ namesake.” 


V 


A STARTLING LETTER 

One day the following week, while Madam Vander- 
beek and the girls sat chatting over their sewing in the 
keeping-room, a crier ^s voice was heard on the street. 

‘ ‘ More bloodshed ! Battle near Bos 'ntown ! — ^Killed ! 
— Wounded!^’ 

This was all that could be made out distinctly, but it 
was quite enough to fill them with dismay. 

Virginians first thought was of her father, and when 
presently her uncle came in she felt sure that he had 
bad news for her — his face was so white and stern. 

‘Ms it true, BarentT^ asked Madam Vanderbeek. 

“Alas, yes,nn he said, sinking into a chair like one 
that had received a blow. “It was a savage onslaught, 
but our men had the advantage until their ammunition 
gave out — then they were forced to retreat. The whole 
country is in an uproar, and what the outcome will be 
— God knows! There, there, now! don’t be troubled, 
little daughter,” he added, catching the frightened look 
in Virginia’s eyes. “It is not at all likely that your 
father was in the battle.” And she tried to be satisfied 
with this assurance. But when a few days later, one 
of the crew of The Katydid clanged the big brass 
knocker on the front door and presented a letter 
scrawlingly addressed to “Mis Wyginny Feedoshy 


A Startling Letter 


35 . 


Spage,” though she laughed as she read the inscrip- 
tion, her heart failed her again, for she recognized the 
twins’ pot-hooks, — the best they could achieve after all 
her patient teaching. 

“I’m afraid they have heard something,” she fal- 
tered, hurriedly breaking the mass of red wax that 
sealed the clumsily folded sheet of foolscap. ‘ * Or else, ’ ' 
she said, more cheerfully, “they want to jog my mem- 
ory about the jackknives that I promised them.” 

The next minute Madam Vanderbeek and Catalyntie 
were wondering what the boys could have written to 
make her lose color so quickly. 

“Oh, I can’t make it out,” she gasped. “It is some- 
thing about father. Do read it, Catalyntie, and tell 
me what it means.” 

“Ou’ dea’ Mis Wyginny,” began Catalyntie, pucker- 
ing her forehead, “de noos am kum dat deys had a big 
fite wah yo’ paw am gon an’ we uns, finkin’ he mouta 
got shot, hab sent Buvah Jeems Jubah wid ol’ White- 
face in de kawyall” — “Mercy, Virginia! What you 
want to teach them first of all is how to spell,” inter- 
polated the reader. 

“Oh, never mind the spelling,” implored Virginia. 
And Catalyntie patiently began again — “in de kawyall 
to bing him bac horn. Buvah Jeems Jubah am’ ’spectin’ 
to git horn by de kumin Sabbof, an we uns fink maybee 
yo’uns ud lik to kum befo him, so’s to be heah wen he 
la wives. Hopin yo’s wel an joyin yoself, we’s 
Yos spectably, 

Sisewo an Cato.” 


At the Manor 


36 

‘^Oh, what shall I doT’ moaned Virginia. 

“Wait a minute — ^here's something more,” said Cata- 
lyntie. 

“ ‘Buvah Jeems Juhah he wis us to sa dat he dun 
boke de las blade out 0’ dat ol jac nife ob hisen.^ And 
that shows very plainly what their motive was in writ- 
ing to you. They are always breaking their jack- 
knives.” 

“And that proves they are very much like other 
boys,” observed Doctor Yanderbeek, who had joined 
them in time to hear only the postscript. 

But Virginia was having hard work to ward off the 
tears. 

“Now, my dear child,” said Madam Yanderbeek, 
with her arm around her, “donT give the letter a sec- 
ond thought. It is evidently a made-up story from 
beginning to end, and they deserve to be well punished 
for writing it.” 

“Oh, they are very truthful boys. Aunt Evelina. I 
never knew them to tell a lie, and they can say the 
commandments from beginning to end.” 

“That’s all very well, my dear, but if you go over 
the letter a little more calmly you will see that it is 
mere supposition on their part that your father has 
been wounded, or that he was even in the neighborhood 
of the battlefield.” 

“But perhaps they put it in that way purposely, to 
make it easier for me. I’m afraid they know more than 
they dared to tell, and I think I ought to go home at 
once. What do you think about it. Uncle Barent?” 

“Why, of course, there’s a possibility of their having 


A Startling Letter 


37 


heard that your father was in the fight/ ^ said her 
uncle, who had been thoughtfully deciphering the let- 
ter, ‘^but it is not at all probable, and it’s not worth 
while for you to worry about it, little woman. Still, 
if it will be any consolation for you to go home and 
learn for yourself whether the story is truth or fiction, 
you can take the Katydid Monday morning.’’ 

^ * Oh, but that is so long to wait, uncle. Is there no 
boat going tomorrow?” 

^‘None that I’d be willing to have you take — Cap- 
tain Simpson is so careful and reliable — and, if her 
mother can spare her, Catalyntie can go with you.” 

^‘0, Uncle Barent!” she cried, her face brightening 
instantly. 

“Besides, Monday will answer every purpose,” he 
went on, “for even if your father should return with 
the boy, he couldn’t possibly reach home before the 
middle of the week. It is a far journey to Bostontown 
and back, and Jeems Jubah, with but one horse, would 
have to travel most of the way at a snail’s pace.” 

Virginia had not taken this fact into consideration, 
and since she could do nothing to hasten either the old 
carryall or the wheels of time, she determined to “sit 
still” and make no one else unhappy by borrowing 
trouble. Monday was but two days off, and, with 
Madam Vanderbeek and Catalyntie trying in every 
way to divert her, she was soon able to persuade her- 
self that her anxiety was uncalled for. Indeed, when 
one has lived but fourteen years in this pleasant world 
the gravest of anxieties — at least where there is a pos- 
sibility of its proving groundless — ^is not likely to weigh 


At the Manor 


38 

heavily, and when she found that she and Catalyntie 
had been asked to take tea the next afternoon at Mur- 
ray Hill, she couldn’t find it in her heart to be sorry 
that she was not on the way to Oak Glade. 

The Murrays and the Vanderbeeks were related by 
marriage and the families had always been intimate. 

“If Cousin Lindley is there we shall have to guard 
our speech,” said Catalyntie, “for he is a great stickler 
for good English, and they say he is writing a 
grammar.” 

“Dear me! I shan’t dare to open my lips,” sighed 
Virginia, the fear of incurring the grammarian’s crit- 
icisms making a momentary blur in her pleasant an- 
ticipations. “I almost hope that he’ll not be home, 
much as I’d like to see him.” 

Madame Vanderbeek was included in the invitation, 
but she had promised to go with the doctor that day 
to Gowanus to see an old friend who was seriously ill, 
and Mrs. Murray, knowing that for the keeping of 
this engagement the doctor’s horse and driver would 
be needed, sent her own carriage for the two little 
maids, for Murray Hill was a long way out of town. 

It was the loveliest of June weather and the beauty 
of the scenery as they drove along the quiet country 
road exhausted Virginia’s supply of adjectives. There 
were quaint old farm houses surrounded with green 
fields and stately villas set amid variegated gardens 
and velvety lawns, while here and there a silver lakelet 
gleamed between the grand old trees. 

“This,” said Catalyntie, as they were passing a large 
orchard, “is a part of Mr. Anthony Bleecker’s farm. 


A Startling Letter 


39 


The family live in town during the winter, but his 
boys and girls — a baker’s dozen of them — are always 
out here through the summer, and they often invite 
us to spend the day -with them. And such a treat as 
it is ! — the change from the noise and heat of the city. 
It covers thirty-five acres and Mr. Bleecker says that 
he means to keep it always in the family for a sum- 
mer home.” 

Another country place to which she called atten- 
tion was the Kip mansion on Kip’s Bay. 

“It has the Kip coat of arms inwrought over the 
entrance,” she said, “and when grandfather was build- 
ing our house some of the family wanted him to have 
the Vanderbeek arms put in, but he thought it was 
hardly in keeping mth the principles on which the 
Colonies were founded. No doubt he was right, but it 
seems to me that if one has a noble ancestry a re- 
minder of that sort is an incentive to live up to it. 
Still, with or without it,” she added sagely, “everyone 
ought to try to make a record worth handing down. 
The motto on the Kip coat of arms is, in English, ‘No 
footsteps backward,’ and father says it would be a 
good one for the Colonies to adopt.” 

“Yes,” Virginia granted, “but if they chance to 
make a mis-step, to ‘step backward’ might be the 
wiser way.” 

When they reached Murray Hill, there, with Mrs. 
Murray and her daughter, stood the grammarian 
waiting to greet them, and Virginia — mindful of 
Catalyntie’s warning— worded her responses with a 


40 


At the Manor 


precision that would have gratified her governess, but 
he proved so genial that she was soon at her ease. 

The “Hiir^ was a bewitching spot, and the girls, in- 
vited to explore the grounds, found something to in- 
terest them at every turn. But the rose garden took 
the palm. Never had they seen such wealth of bloom. 
And when each had filled a generous basket to carry 
home, Mrs. Murray instructed them in the old-time 
method of distilling rose-water. 

‘^It is an art that every gentlewoman ought to under- 
stand,’’ she said, ‘‘for it is the only way to conserve 
the sweetness of the roses.” 

After supper there was a merry game of trock with 
Mr. Bindley Murray and his sister for their partners 
— and not once did the “stickler for good English” 
play the school-master. 

“How does thy father stand in regard to the war?” 
their hostess asked Catalyntie as they were putting on 
their pelisses. 

“My father stands for the cause of the Colonies, 
Cousin Murray,” the girl answered, straightening her- 
self. 

“That’s right, my child, that’s right,” said Mrs. 
Murray, patting her shoulder. “Thee knows that we 
Friends are opposed to war, but, since the battle is on, 
though we may not take up arms, we would fain see 
the oppressors vanquished, and thee can tell thy father 
that our sympathy is with the ‘Sons of Liberty,’ and 
that in time of need something more substantial can be 
had for the asking.” 

“Oh, thank you,” said Catalyntie, all her stiffness 


A Startling Letter 41 

gone. ‘‘That’s a pleasant message to give him, and I 
know he will appreciate it.” 

“And how about thy father, daughter?” inquired 
the Quakeress, turning to Virginia. At that the little 
maid’s chin began to quiver. 

“Oh, he, too, is on the side of the Colonies,” Cata- 
lyntie answered for her, “and she is feeling anxious 
about him, fearing he may have been in the battle at 
Bunker Hill, as he had gone to Charlestown on busi- 
ness, but there is no certainty of it, and even if he 
took part in it he no doubt came through unharmed.” 

“Yes, indeed, otherwise thee would have heard be‘- 
fore this, for bad news is a swift traveler,” said Mrs. 
Murray, caressing the drooping face, “so keep a brave 
heart, child. It is not worth while to pay a tax on 
-trouble until it falls due.” 

“That’s very good advice,” said Virginia, tear- 
fully, as the carriage door shut them in, “but I doubt 
if she would be able to put it into practice if her 
fa-father — ” 

“Oh, yes, she would,” said Catalyntie. “That’s a 
part of the Quaker creed — ^not to worry, and when 
trouble comes to take it calmly. That’s why their 
faces always look so placid and free from wrinkles. 
Oh, see those lambs frisking over yonder! How cun- 
ning they are.” 

And, her thoughts diverted, Virginia was presently 
smiling again. 


VI 


A MEMORABLE SUNDAY 

On Sunday the entire household, the slaves and 
hired servants included, went to church, for it was a 
household in which no one was allowed to profane the 
day with either needless labor or a neglect of religious 
services. 

Dr. Vanderbeek and his wife headed the little pro- 
cession, and behind them, walking decorously, with 
their hearts attuned to the soft chiming of the Sab- 
bath bells, came Catalyntie and Virginia, and it was 
80 like other Sabbaths that neither of them dreamed 
what an eventful day it was to be. Yet they couldn’t 
help noticing that many were talking more earnestly 
than was customary on the way to church, and just 
as they reached the steps Colonel Cortenius and Cap- 
tain Richard Varrick brought the party to a halt. 

‘‘At once?” asked Dr. Vanderbeek, in response to 
their urgent whispers. 

“Ay, there is no time to lose,” said Captain Var- 
rick. And the doctor, delaying only to give a word of 
explanation to Madam Vanderbeek, hurried away with 
them. 

“Aunt Evelina, pray tell me, is it anything about 
my father?” entreated Virginia, all her forebodings 
besetting her anew. 


A Memorable Sunday 


43 


But Madam Vanderbeek shook her head so cheer- 
fully that the little maid^s fears went to the winds, 
aud she seated herself beside Catalyntie in the high- 
backed pew with the determination to treasure up the 
text and all that she could master of the sermon, to 
repeat to her uncle, in case he should catechise her. 

But there seemed to be something in the air that 
morning that made everyone restless. Eyes that 
should have been fixed reverently on the preacher were 
now and again guilty of exchanging questioning 
glances with other truant eyes, and more than once 
some of the church dignitaries were seen whispering 
together. Virginia wondered that the domine did not 
reprove them. But he, too, seemed to feel the dis- 
turbing influence, and, though he omitted no part of 
the service, the instant the benediction was pronounced 
he hastened to join the delinquents. And with that 
the discussion became general and was no longer car- 
ried on in whispers. 

To-day r’ the girls heard some one exclaim in the 
pew behind them. 

‘‘Yes, to-day; he and two of his staff with a com- 
pany of horse from Philadelphia,” was the answer. 

“Ay,” added another, “and eight or ten companies 
of our own soldiers, all in uniform, have marched out 
to Colonel Lispenard's to meet them. ICs going to be 
a grand sight.” 

“Who is it that's coming, Catalyntie?” inquired Vir- 
ginia, under her breath. 

But her cousin put an admonishing finger on her lip 
and made no reply until they reached the door. 


44 


At the Manor 


is Washington — General George Washington!’’ 
she said impressively; and as they went down the 
steps they saw that everybody was turning in the 
direction from which the procession was to enter the 
city. 

“General George Washington!” repeated Virginia. 

Catalyntie!” 

Madam Vanderbeek leaned toward them. 

“Keep close behind me,” she said, knowing very 
well what they wanted, “and carry yourselves 
quietly. ’ ’ 

They had hardly dared to hope for this concession, 
and they squeezed each other’s hand in an ecstasy. 

But they had not gone far when Madam Vanderbeek 
halted at a friend’s gate. 

“We will wait here on the stoop,” she said. And 
this was a disappointment to them, for the young feet 
were tingling to keep step with the crowd. 

One by one acquaintances joined them, until the 
Beats on either side of the wide porch were filled. And 
while they waited, with eyes and ears alert, the hostess 
regaled them with spiced buttermilk and caraway 
cookies. So the time passed very agreeably. 

By and by there was heard afar a strain of martial 
music, and, presently, up the way from Lispenard’s, 
came the procession — the vanguard of soldiers followed 
by a company of congressmen and officers, then a troop 
of cavalry, with the commander in chief, accompanied 
by General Lee and General Schuyler, bringing up the 
rear, while a steadily increasing throng did its best to 
keep pace with them. 


A Memorable Sunday 


45 


‘‘Look! Look!’^ cried one and another. And, as 
Washington and his generals passed, every one of the 
. staid dames on the stoop found herself vigorously 
waving her handkerchief, while Virginia and Cata- 
lyntie, forgetting the injunction to “carry themselves 
quietly,” rushed to the gate and kept on waving till 
their arms ached. And thus it chanced that General 
Washington, catching sight of them, lifted his hat and 
smiled down on them from the saddle in a way that 
made them his worshipful allies for life. 

They were still straining their eyes for one more 
glimpse of him when an ungracious gust snatched Vir- 
ginia’s handkerchief and carried it into the street. 

“Too bad!” sympathized Catalyntie. “I’m afraid 
you will never see it again.” 

“No I I should be lost in the throng myself if I tried 
to find it,” sighed Virginia,/ ‘and it was that pretty 
one Aunt Evelina gave me.” 

But as the handkerchief fluttered to the ground it 
was caught by a lad that chanced to be passing with a 
company of comrades in the wake of the crowd. 

“Why, it’s Harold!” cried the girls as he leaped the 
gate. And when he had meekly resigned himself to 
their embraces they discovered Theodore patiently 
waiting to be greeted. 

The news that the commander in chief was on his 
way to the city had reached the academy that morning, 
and the entire school, headed by the principal, had 
marched to town with all speed to join in welcoming 
the hero. 

“If I hadn’t dropped my handkerchief you both 


At the Manor 


'46 

would have gone by without glancing at us/^ Virginia 
complained, with a laugh. 

‘‘Of course we should,’’ retorted Hal, tossing a 
bunch of daisies at her, “not dreaming that you were 
anywhere near us. As it is, we are open to discipline 
for breaking ranks.” 

“Yes, and we ought to be going,” said Theodore. 

But just then a house-maid brought them, with the 
compliments of her mistress, a generously-filled 
trencher. And what boy with a normal appetite could 
resist cookies and spiced buttermilk — a hundred years 
ago? 

“I’m going home tomorrow, Hal,” said Virginia, 
with a break in her voice. And then she told him of 
the twins’ letter. 

“Oh, go to!” he scoffed, twirling one of her curls. 
“That’s all a hoax. Jeems Jubah is much too wise for 
his years, and so are the twins. Father has never been 
half severe enough with them. But that was your 
fault, little softie, for you were always finding excuses 
for them, when he thought that they deserved a 
trouncing.” 

“And who was it, pray,” mocked Virginia, “that let 
the family think that he broke the hall window with his 
ball and meekly took the punishment when those same 
twins were the culprits?” 

“Oh, but they didn’t mean to do it,” retorted Har- 
old, his face flushing. “That was years ago — ^you 
ought to have forgotten it by this time. Come, Ted, 
this won’t do.” And he pulled himself away and 
made for the gate. 


A Memorable Sunday 


47 


‘‘Here, come back and kiss me, laddie, ’’ called 
Madam Vanderbeek from the porch. “And don’t for- 
got that as soon as school days are over there will be 
a place waiting for you in your Uncle Barent’s office, 
if you’ve a mind to study medicine.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, thank you. Aunt Evelina, ’ ’ said Hal, lifting his 
cap as he stooped to receive her kiss, but — I ’m going 
to be a soldier, and Ted is, too.” 

“The war has turned his head,” said Madam Van- 
derbeek, with a sigh, as the boys dashed down the 
steps. “His uncle will be sorely disappointed.” And 
in truth. Doctor Vanderbeek, when he learned the lad’s 
decision, was more disappointed than he cared to own, 
for he had set his heart on having him follow his own 
profession. 

“Yet, after all,” he said, “it is only natural that he 
should he hankering for the fray. And the country 
is likely to need all that are willing to enlist. But 
war is a grim master.” 

Virginia listening to this comment felt a chill creep 
over her. She said nothing about it, however, till she 
and Catalyntie had gone to their room that night, and 
then not until the candle was snuffed out and they had 
climbed into bed. 

“Catalyntie, if you had a brother, an only brother, 
and the dearest boy in the world,” she began, “would 
you be willing to have him a soldier?” 

Catalyntie weighed the question conscientiously be- 
fore answering. 

“I’m not sure that I’d want him to be one,” she said 
slowly, “but if his country needed him I should blush 


At the Manor 


48 

for him if he held back, and so would you, Virginia. 

‘‘Oh, I shan’t utter a word against it,” declared 
Virginia stoutly. But she buried her face in her pil- 
low with a sob. 


THE CRUISE OP THE KATYDID 


On Monday morning the girls came to breakfast in 
readiness for the boat, for Captain Jerry liked an early 
start and was apt to do a little storming if his passen- 
gers were not prompt. 

’Taint no use blamin’ wind an’ tide ’cause they’re 
subject to the Lord’s orderin’ an’ ain’t responsible, 
but human bein’s are s ’posed to be free agents an’ 
ought to have sense,” he gibed one day in excuse for 
an outburst against one of his men who had kept the 
boat waiting an hour over the time set for sailing — 
and his audience agreed with him. 

The Katydid was a staunch little sailor and ordi- 
narily Doctor Vanderbeek would have been quite will- 
ing to trust the girls to the captain’s fatherly care, but 
with strange craft ranging the river he decided to 
relieve him of the responsibility of looking after them 
by taking charge of them himself. 

‘‘Besides,” he confided to Madam Vanderbeek, 
“since there is a possibility that the major has been 
wounded there is a possibility that I may be needed 
at the manor, so I may as well forestall being sum- 
moned.” 

Catalyntie and Virginia knew nothing of this ar- 
rangement until the Katydid was about to push from 


50 


At the Manor 


the wharf, and their surprise and delight were un- 
bounded, for, though neither of them had cared to own 
it, they, too, were in dread of an encounter with the 
enemy, and his strong protective presence gave them 
at once a feeling of security. 

‘‘Now, daughters,’’ he said, as soon as they were 
fairly off, “I want you to keep your eyes open and 
give a description of all you see on both land and 
water.” 

“Oh, but we’ve been up and down the river so many 
times. Uncle Barent, that there is really nothing new 
to be looked for,” said Virginia. 

“Ah, that’s where you make a mistake, my dear. 
No matter how often we go over the road we can 
always finds something new to interest us if we are 
only on the watch for it, and as a rule we ’ll find some- 
thing altogether different from our expectation. Hen- 
drick Hudson in his Ealf Moon, searching for a high- 
way for the Indies, had no thought of coming upon 
this magnificent river. What! A discovery already, 
Catalyntie?” 

“Well, yonder there’s a large sloop,” replied Cata- 
lyntie. “It is headed this way, but with the wind 
against it, it is making slow progress.” 

While, Catalyntie was scanning the river, Virginia 
from the opposite sido of the deck was watching a 
“moving picture” on land. “I see a man mowing,” 
she said. “He is doing it, too, as if he enjoyed it — 
with long sweeps of the scythe — and I can almost 
catch the smell of the hay. Farther on is a house, and 
at the well a woman is lowering the bucket with a child 


The Cruise of the Katydid 51 


toddling about her. But what^s the matter, I wonder 1 
Something has startled her. She has caught up the 
child and is hurrying in.’^ 

“Yes and listen! She is blowing a horn,” added 
Catalyntie. 

“That sounds like a warning of some sort,” said Doc- 
tor Vanderbeek, as the blast of the horn, clear and shrill, 
was borne to them across the fields. 

“Well, the man has dropped his scythe and is run- 
ning toward the house,” cried Virginia. “And look I 
look! there come two redcoats and they seem to be 
threatening him. 0 uncle Barent! They’ve brought 
a rope and are trying to bind him.” 

“Here, captain!” shouted the doctor. “Come and 
see what all this means. These little maids think 
there’s something wrong at the farmhouse yonder. 
But perhaps they don’t see straight and I’m too near- 
sighted to set them right.” 

The captain lurched forward without measuring his 
steps. 

“Wrong!” he roared, his far-seeing eyes taking it 
in at a glance. “Hi, there, boys ! cast anchor and lower 
a boat and every one of you that can muster a gun 
pile in. Those rascals are roping that poor fellow to 
a tree, and I’m not such a Levite as to pass by and 
leave a neighbor in a fix like that.” 

“Give me a gun and I’ll go with you, captain,” said 
Doctor Vanderbeek. 

“No, sir, no! If I and my men choose to take our 
lives in our hands it’s our own lookout. Besides, some 
one must stay to guard these young womten.” 


At the Manor 


5 ^ 

‘^Please, Captain Simpson, don’t have him stay on 
our account,” entreated Virginia. “I know how we’d 
feel if we were men. And we’re not at all afraid — for 
so short a time.” 

“Indeed we’re not,” said Catalyntie, scorning to 
show even the tip of the white feather. 

“Well, well, come along then, doctor,” called the 
captain. “The cook’s down below if they want any- 
thing,” and in another minute the sailors were at the 
oars. 

It chanced that where they landed a heavy growth 
of dwarf cedars enabled them to creep within hailing 
distance without being sieen, and when, with every gun 
leveled, the captain abruptly demanded a surrender, 
the bewildered redcoats obeyed without a second’s 
hesitation. 

“Now, friend Mason,” said the captain, who had al- 
ready explained to Doctor Vanderbeek that the farmer 
was an old acquaintance for whom he often carried a 
load of vegetables to market, “make haste and tell 
us what these vagabonds wanted.” 

“They wanted me to swear allegiance to King 
George,” sputtered Mason, as soon as he was freed 
from the gag with which the redcoats had stopped his 
cry for help, “but I told them that I’d already, in my 
heart, sworn allegiance to another George and wasn’t 
going to perjure myself — for I take it a man has no 
more right to break faith with himself than with his 
fellow-men — and at that they sprung on me like blood 
hounds, declaring that they’d make short work of 
bringing me to my senses.” 


The Cruise of the Katydid 53 


‘‘Oho ! Well, the hounds have had their teeth pulled, 
and the question now is what to do with them. I was 
expectin’ to stop -on my next trip for some of your but- 
ter an’ eggs an’ garden truck, but I’d no intention of 
takin’ on any live stock. If ’t wasn’t for my lady 
passengers I’d turn about an’ hustle ’em to the city 
an’ give ’em over to the ’thorities.” 

“Oh, take them aboard and decide afterward what 
disposition to make of them,” counseled Doctor Van- 
derbeek. And without further debate the prisoners 
were marched to the boat. 

Meanwhile the “lady passengers” had been on the 
verge of a panic. 

“Catalyntie, what would you do?” asked Virginia, 
if — if someone should attack us before Uncle Barent 
and Captain Simpson come back?” 

“I think,” said Catalyntie, calmly, “that first of all 
I’d try to say a little prayer. Don’t you remember 
the text yesterday morning — ^‘The Lord is my de- 
fense’?” 

“Yes, but the domine told us that ‘Faith without 
works is dead,’ and that when we pray we ought to do 
our part toward bringing an answer. But there ’s not 
much we could do in a case like this. If we only had 
a gun or a pistol — Oh, wait! I’ve just thought of some- 
thing. Possibly these would be better than nothing.” 
And she drew from her reticule the three jack knives 
that she had bought for Jeems Jubah and the twins. 

“They might,” Catalyntie conceded, “if we could 
be cold-blooded enough to use them. But father and 
Captain Jerry will be here soon.” And, absorbed in 


At the Manor 


^4 

watching landward, neither of them saw that the ves- 
sel Catalyntie had sighted was hearing down on them 
till of a sudden came the cry ‘‘Ship ahoy 

Their first impulse was to fly below, but regarding 
themselves as the sentinels of the Katydid in the ab- 
sence of the captain and his men they felt that it 
would be cowardly to desert their post. 

“Perhaps if we donT speak theyTl pass without 
seeing us,’^ whispered Virginia, as they stood quaking 
behind the mast. 

But at that instant they were hailed again. 

“Somebody must say something/’ said Catalyntie. 
And finding that the cook was making no response, 
she stepped from the shelter of the mast and called: 
“It is the Katydid, sailed by Captain Jerry — ” But 
there her voice failed her. 

Nearer and nearer came the threatening sail, and 
though they braced themselves for the onset with a 
fine semblance of courage, they were secretly con- 
vinced that never were two little maids in a more woe- 
ful strait. But in the depth of their distress, someone, 
across the fast-lessening space, shouted their names, 
and at that they both fell a-weeping. 

“Don’ yo’ uns be skeered,” charged the cook emerg- 
ing from the hatchway with a carving knife in one 
hand and a boot-jack in the other. “I’se gwine to 
look out fo’ yo’.” 

“0, Peter! Peter! it’s my father,” cried Virginia, 
laughing through her tears. 

By that time the sloop had dropped anchor and 
when five minutes later Doctor Vanderbeek descried 


The Cruise of the Katydid 55 

her lying alongside of the Katydid he made a dash for 
the river in a fever of anxiety. 

A brief explanation followed. The major was has- 
tening to New York, chiefly to relieve Virginia’s mind, 
and it was quickly decided that his wisest course would 
be to turn about and accompany the girls to Oak Glade, 
leaving Doctor Vanderbeek to return with the two pris- 
oners to New York on the other boat. 

“Do tell us, Uncle Henry, did Jeems Jubah really 
set out for Bunker Hill to And you?” inquired Catalyn- 
tie when the Katydid was once more under way. 

“Indeed he did. I met him on the post road two 
days’ journey from home, and he fairly cried for joy 
when he found that I had come through unharmed.” 

“There must have been some fierce fighting done 
that momin’ ” broke in Captain Jerry, impatient for 
fuller details of the engagement. 

“Ay, it was fierce on both sides,” said the major. 
And for the rest of the voyage they were so intent on 
his rehearsal of scenes connected with the battle that 
none remembered to keep an eye out for the enemy. 
The Katydid, however, sailed on undisturbed, and, with 
a stiff breeze swelling her canvas, sighted the manor 
soon after nightfall, making a record that filled her 
skipper’s heart with pride. 

“She did her purtiest this time,” he boasted, ‘‘spite 
of her havin’ to lay to to tend to them blackguards.” 

“Oh, stopping to help another seldom hinders one, 
if it is in a good cause,” remarked the major. “But 
I doubt if there’ll be anybody down to meet us, since 
they are not expecting us tonight — except perhaps old 


At the Manor 


'56 

Pepper. He always seems to have a premonition when 
any of us are coming.’’ 

Pepper had been sent to Harold from the south 
when a pup, and in honor of the giver was at first 
called ‘^Colonel Culpepper,” but this name, like ‘‘Vir- 
ginia Theodosia,” proved much too long for daily use, 
and the family soon shortened it. 

“Yes, we can always count on Pepper,” said Vir- 
ginia. 

But there in a row on the dock stood Jeems Jubah 
and the twins each waving a smoky lantern and grin- 
ning a welcome. 

“They, too, seem to have had a premonition,” said 
Virginia. And when she produced the jack knives the 
grin became a chuckle. 

“We uns wuz dwefful ’fwaid yo’d gwi an’ fo’git 
’em Miss Wyginny,” said the twins in chorus, “an’ 
jack knives am mighty handy to hab wound dese 
days.” 

Whereupon the girls looked slyly at each other with 
laughter in their eyes. But they kept their own coun- 
sel, and went demurely up the walk with Pepper frisk- 
ing about them in a frenzy of delight. 


VIII 


RICHARD CARROLL 

The next week the major was called to New York, 
being wanted by the “Sons of Liberty,’’ but Catalyn- 
tie’s presence solaced Virginia in a measure for his 
absence, and a few days later Harold and Theodore 
came home for the summer vacation. 

They were all fond of outdoor sports and of these 
at Oak Glade there was such a diversity that they 
were sometimes at a loss to make a choice. They were 
especially fond of horseback riding, and there was 
rarely a fine day that they were not off for a gallop. 

One morning as they cantered up the drive they 
found a stranger seated on the veranda. 

“I am Richard Carroll,” he said, raising his hat, 
with a bow that included the four, as he stepped down 
to meet them, but he addressed his words to Virginia, 
“and I came commissioned by my uncle. Colonel Cul- 
pepper of Culpepper Hall, to convey to you his loving 
greetings, with the hope that I, his unworthy godson, 
may be welcomed for his sake and that of your noble 
godmother.” 

This stilted introduction was offset with a merry 
smile as he lifted Virginia from the saddle. 

“At home,” he added, “they call me Dick.” And 
this at once put them all on a friendly footing. 


At the Manor 


58 

He had just returned from England, where he was 
being educated, and his glowing description of his 
school roused the generous envy of Harold and Ted. 

^‘Yes, it is a fine place to study, if a fellow wants to 
get down to the root of things,’’ he reiterated, ‘‘but if 
the war continues I’m not going back. I’ve no mind 
to be breaking bread with them over there while here 
they are turning their guns on my countrymen.” 

He had meant to spend only a night at the manor, 
but Harold and Virginia insisted on his remaining to 
meet their father, who was expected home in the course- 
of a fortnight, and his enthusiastic delight in the 
scenery, together with the attraction of youth for youth, 
made it an easy matter for him to be persuaded to pro- 
long his stay. So the pastimes were begun with new 
zest, and every day brought a fresh program of pleas- 
ure. 

Now and then a picnic was planned and usually on 
these occasions they were joined by Katharine Brinck- 
erhoff, and her cousins, Betty and David Newling. But 
while this made even numbers, it sometimes happened 
that the pairing off was not entirely to each one’s sat- 
isfaction, for lads and lassies have unaccountable pref- 
erences. Catalyntie, when Theodore was her escort, 
would willingly have changed places with Katherine, 
to whom David was devoting himself, and Harold 
would have been equally willing to take charge of 
someone else, instead of Betty, though to an unpre- 
judiced eye, Betty was as sweet a maid as one would 
care to see. 

Virginia, however, found the placing, so far as she 


Richard Carroll 


59 


was individually concerned, quite to her hearths con- 
tent, for, walking or riding, Richard Carroll was al- 
ways (at her side, and, never for a moment assuming 
that as mistress of the manor it was simply her preroga- 
tive — for she had not yet thought of herself as grown 
up — ^she felt immensely honored by his choice. Young 
as she was, she was a ready reader of character, and 
the southern lad with his fine frank face and gentle 
gallantry of speech and manner, straightway became 
her ideal of manliness. 

Only once during the fortnight were their plans 
upset by frowning skies. They had intended to climb 
Storm King that day, but the probability of being 
caught midway in either rain or fog made it unwise 
to attempt it. 

‘‘Hal,’^ said Virginia, as they sat watching from 
the veranda for a rift in the clouds that hooded the hills 
across the river, ‘‘We haven’t yet shown Richard — ” 

“Dick — ^if you please,” interposed the young south- 
erner. 

“The — the — ^may I tell?” Virginia went on, with- 
out seeming to hear him. 

“What, the cave?” asked Harold. “I’m glad you 
thought of it. Of course he must see it.” And he at 
once led the way — a narrow unfrequented path hedged 
on both sides with tangled thickets and brushwood. 

It was a curiosity, the little cavern in the heart of 
the rocks. Harold had discovered it one day while 
chasing a chipmunk. Seeing his quarry suddenly dart 
out of sight he pushed aside the vines to look for it, 
and found an arched space almost as large as an ordi- 


6o 


At the Manor 


nary doorway. Pepper had already dashed ahead in 
hot pursuit of the game, and where Pepper led Harold 
usually thought it safe to follow. 

Passing through an opening he came upon a eavity 
fully twelve feet long and nearly eight in width, with 
a fairly even floor, while the sides reached to a solid 
ceiling high enough for a tall man to be in no danger 
of bumping his head. 

In his astonishment he forgot the chipmunk till the 
little creature, at a loss for covert, doubled on its trail 
and made for the entrance. Pepper, too, whisked about, 
but the chipmunk was already out' of sight. 

‘^Let him go. Pep, let him go,’’ cried the boy, not 
sorry to have it escape unharmed — for, much as he 
liked the excitement of the chase, he never cared to be 
in at the death — and Pepper, with a lingering sniff, 
gave it up and stretched hims-elf panting at his master’s 
feet. 

To Harold, only thirteen at the time, it seemed a 
wonderful find, and at first he took no one but his 
father and Virginia into his confidence. Not even his 
faithful henchmen, Jeems Jubah and the twins, were 
told about it, and his abrupt way of vanishing when 
playing hide-and-seek with them was a mystery they had 
never been able to solve. 

Eventually Catalyntie and Theodore were let into 
the secret and after that, ceasing to be a novelty, it 
slipped into the background. 

‘Ht would be a fine hiding place in an emergency,” 
was Richard’s verdict after examining it from end to 
end. 


Richard Carroll 


6l 


Opposite tbe entrance and so near the roof that sev- 
eral ledges had to be mounted to reach it, Was a large 
aperture that overlooked the river and afforded both 
light and air. 

^^And this,’^ he added, leaping the boulders to in- 
spect it, ‘‘would serve for a watch-tower, it gives so 
good a view of all that passes below. 

“Well, if the emergency comes, we’ll follow the chip- 
munk’s trail,” said Harold, “if we have our wits about 
us.” 

“Ay, that’s half the battle in sudden exigencies,” 
said Richard, “to think fast and act promptly. But 
it is not easy to imagine anything happening here that 
would compel you to become cave-dwellers.” 

“No, it is not at all likely that things will ever come 
to that pass,” predicted Theodore, “not if we can beep 
the British from getting possession of the river.” 

“Ah, there’s a great deal hinges on that ‘if’,” said 
Richard. 

On returning to the house they found that Major 
Sprague had arrived and for once Virginia was con- 
scious of an undertow of regret in her quick surge of 
joy, for her father’s coming meant Richard’s going, 
the young fellow protesting with droll seriousness that 
now that he could assure his uncle that he had had the 
pleasure of meeting his old friend there was not the 
shadow of an excuse left him for lengthening his visit. 

“But, I am coming again some day,” he said, “God 
willing.” And Virginia treasured the promise. 


IX 


A YOUTHFUL SECRETARY 

Scarcely had Richard Carrol gone when the word 
that Madam Vanderbeek was ill, summoned Cata- 
lyntie home and as Harold and Theodore — touched 
with the war fever — had persuaded the major to give 
them a course of instruction in elementary tactics and 
were too thoroughly engrossed in it to find any leisure 
for pastimes, Virginia could often have cried for lone- 
liness. One Saturday, however, Theodore made a 
break by going to Rishkill to spent Sunday with his 
grandmother, and thinking that this would leave 
Harold at liberty for the day, she took it into her head 
to ask him to go rowing with her. 

But rushing into the library, in her eagerness to 
find him, without waiting to knock, she received a 
check that made her forget her errand, for Harold, 
seated at the desk, was writing as for dear life at the 
dictation of a tall kingly looking officer. 

Her father lifted a warning hand, and Virginia 
understood, but already she had recognized the kind, 
grave face of Washington, and though she slipped out 
abashed, it was with heart and feet in a flutter. Gen- 
eral George Washington! A guest under their own 
roof I 

And now the little mistress of the manor had some- 


A Youthful Secretary 


63 

thing more important to think of than boating. 
Mammy Ann must be consulted in regard to dinner 
and Mrs. Jason must see to it that all the plate and 
pewter had such a polishing that every piece would be 
a mirror. She herself would look after the guest 
chamber; and there were flowers to be gathered and 
vases to be filled. If she had time she would weave a 
floral motto of welcome. But she felt that the very 
best she could do would fall far short of the occasion. 
General George Washington! Whoever would have 
believed it? Oh, if only Catalyntie were there or any- 
body else that she could hug! 

For over a week the general remained with them, 
and except that he ‘‘rested on the Sabbath and went 
with them to church, the time was entirely devoted to 
business pertaining to the colonies — ^business that neces- 
sitated much writing — and Harold became for the 
nonce his secretary. The lad was a fine penman and 
Washington commended him warmly. 

“If his years equaled his ability,’’ he said, “he 
should have a place on my staff!” 

The boy straightened himself to the limit of his 
slender frame. 

“I can at least serve in the ranks, sir,” he urged 
zealously. 

“Ah, that is where the least are often the greatest,” 
answered the general. “On those in the ranks de- 
pends the victory. I would that we had twenty thou- 
sand with your spirit to reinforce us. Perhaps, if the 
war goies on — may God forbid!” — and he turned away 
with his grand face quivering. 


At the Manor 


64 

But his words made both Harold and Theodore keen 
to enlist at once. 

‘‘Not yet, boys, not yet,’^ said Major Sprague. 
“Keep at your books until there is a certainty of your 
being needed in the army. It is possible that by 
spring the war may be over.’^ 

“Ay, and then we shall have lost our chance,’^ com- 
plained Harold. 

“A chance well lost, my lad. God grant it may be 
lost forever.’’ 

To this the lads, impatient to win their spurs, were 
not disposed to give a very cordial response. They 
dutifully went back to school, however, when their 
vacation ended, and as the major was presently called 
to join the colonial forces at Cambridge, lonesome 
days fell once more to the little mistress of the manor. 
She had hoped to go again to her uncle’s, but owing 
to the possibility that the city might have trouble 
with the British, her father felt that she would be 
safer at Oak Glade, and, though she did not question 
the wisdom of his verdict, she found it hard to face 
the outlook cheerfully. 

Mammy Ann and Sis Sue did their best to comfort 
her; even Miss Sabrina made an effort to be com- 
panionable out of study hours; while old Pepper kept 
beside her from morning till night, his big brown eyes 
overflowing with sympathy and affection; but she 
was too downhearted to respond. 

“De sensibles’ way to do when yo’s feelin’ like dat, 
honey,” advised Mammy Ann, with her motherly arms 


A Youthful Secretary 65 

around her, “is to gwi an’ tell de Lawd. Dat am 
w^at de disciples done — dey went an’ tol’ Jesus.” 

And often when her heart was heavy the little maid 
put this wise counsel into practice, and was com- 
forted, for ‘telling Jesus’ was like laying her head 
in her mother’s lap — ^her dearest refuge in all her 
childish trials in earlier days. 

Nor was she the only member of the household who 
through stress of need, was learning where to turn 
for help 

One afternoon she wandered into the cave and 
perched herself at the loophole. The dim light and 
utter silence seemed to fit her dolorous mood, and 
soon she was beset with a swarm of foreboding “Ifs.” 
How could she stand it if her father and Harold were 
to be always away like this ? And what would become 
of her, with no one to protect her, if the manor should 
be attacked by the British? All the field hands, most 
of whom had served her father for years, had already 
joined the army, leaving only Jeems Jubah and the 
twins to defend the place, and what sort of defence 
was to be expected from three young boys? — such 
harum-scarum boys at that! The twins, at least! 

From the little window she could see that the sun 
was going down in a purple mist, and along the river 
the autumn woods had kindled into a blaze of color, 
but she was too downcast to give a thought to the 
beauty of the landscape. In fact, her tears were 
falling so fast that the landscape was scarcely more 
than a blur. 

Of a sudden a voice broke the sunset silence, and 


66 


At the Manor 


catching her breath she leaned from the loophole to 
listen. The speaker was evidently only a short dis- 
tance below her, and presently his words made the 
tears come faster. But they were tears that held a 
rainbow now. 

^‘0, Lawd,’^ — it was Jeems Jubah’s soft-keyed ac- 
cent — ‘^Dou knowst deh ain’t nobody but we uns lef* 
to Hect de fambly — we twee no ’count niggahs — but 
we uns kin do it, 0, Lawd, if we hab Dou to he’p us. 
He’p us expessly to take cah ob ou’ young mistess till 
de wah am obeh an’ Massa Spague an’ young Massa 
kirns back home. Dat am all we hab to ax. 0, Lawd. 
Amen ! ’ ’ 

Two muffled ‘‘Amens” followed, and then in the 
lingering light, Virginia saw three dusky figures creep 
from the covert of a clump of alders and disappear in 
the vapory gloom that sihrouded the hillside. 

^‘G^od bless ’em,” she said fervently, brushing her 
hand across her eyes as she slipped down from her 
watch tower. ‘^God bless all three of them.” And 
then the gathering darkness in the cave made her fly 
to the entrance. 

But Jeems Jubah’s prayer had banished the gloom 
from her heart and she skipped to the house with a 
song on her lips. 


X 


CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY 

As the winter progressed, the outlook for the 
colonies grew so threatening that all hearts were filled 
anew with apprehension, and even when, in March, 
General Washington and his troops forced the Brit- 
ish to evacuate Boston, the rejoicing was everywhere 
tempered with the fear that New York would become 
the objective point of the retreating warships. That 
they would turn in any other direction seemed hardly 
probable, and vigorous measures for the defense of 
the city were begun without waiting for the fear to 
become a certainty. 

‘‘We got the best of ^em in Bos ’onto wn this time,” 
said Jonas Stoutenburg, an old farmer who, living in 
the neighborhood of Oak Glade Village, had stopped 
at the manor on his way from the city to repeat the 
good tidings. “The Lord an’ St. Patrick was both of 
’em on our side that day, I take it, but it’s give ’em 
a big scare in Noo York. Everybody’s hair’s standin’ 
on end, an’ with a fair show o’ reason, too. Still, 
there’s no tollin’, ” he added, seeing his hearers’ faces 
begin to grow troubled. “Like as not they’ll give 
up the job an’ cut for home.” 

Virginia tried hard to persuade herself that this 
prediction might be verified, but a letter from Catalyn- 
tie a day or two later made havoc of the hope. 


68 


At the Manor 


‘‘Lord Sterling/’ she wrote, “has ordered out every 
able-bodied man to help in the building of the forti- 
fications, and for the last week father has been working 
side by side with Josephus and esteeming it no dis- 
grace since it is for the public good. Hundreds of 
others — the very best of our citizens — are proving their 
patriotism in the same way, and the whole town is in a 
tumult of military preparation, for it is feared that 
the British are planning to bombard us. The streets 
are full of soldiers, and not a few of them have been 
quartered in the handsome dwelling houses at the foot 
of Broadway. The owners — those at least that are 
tories — are very indignant, but father says that in 
times like these, everyone’s house should be at the 
service of the community. 

In our own home we have as yet suffered no special 
inconvenience, but the high price of all sorts of com- 
modities, both groceries and dry goods, makes us 
think twice before buying. As for pins, my dear, 
they are hardly to be had at any cost, while sugar has 
become such a luxury that we no longer have it on 
the table. We went to Gowanus — ^mother and I — a 
few weeks ago, to visit Cousin Jane, and she was 
lamenting that she would be unable to make either 
jelly or preserves this summer if it kept at the present 
price — a lament that is echoed by our notable house- 
wives everywhere, they have so prided themselves on 
their confections. 

Cousin Jane is one of the heirs of the Anneke Jans 
estate, and she tells us it is thought that the property 
will soon be restored to them. The Roosevelts and 


Captured by the Enemy 69 

Livingstons, and, in fact, the entire clan, seem very 
hopeful in regard to it. Of course, all the family are 
in high feather at the prospect and are building no 
end of air castles. Cousin Aris confided to me that he 
is betrothed to a niece of their neighbors, the Lefferts, 
and that they are to be married as soon as the suit is 
settled. He is a fine manly lad and I hope they will 
not be kept waiting over long, but the law suit now — 
like everything else not pertaining to the war — will 
have to come to a stop until the country is quiet again. 
Then, no doubt, it will be speedily settled, and that 
will be the signal for the wedding bells to ring. 

We were intending to stay several days, but the 
very night of our arrival, Mr. Leiferts, dropping in, 
chanced to mention that a number of redcoats had 
been lurking in the vicinity, and mother became so 
alarmed that we hurried back to town the next morn- 
ing. But as matters stand at present, she feels that it 
is equally unsafe here. Many of our friends, believing 
that the city is doomed, are packing up to be ready to 
leave at a moment’s notice. Our neighbors, the Van 
Wycks, expect to go next week on the Katydid to 
Fishkill, and father is urging us to go at the same time 
to Oak Glade, knowing that you will not refuse us 
shelter, but as he is obliged to remain, mother will 
not consent to leave him. She insists, however, on 
sending me with them, and trusts that you will kindly 
let me remain at the manor until this ’rude alarm of 
war is over’.” 

Virginia, who had read the first of the letter with an 
anxious brow, gave a cry of delight at this announce- 
ment. 


70 


At the Manor 


‘‘It is a wise arrangement/’ said Miss Sabrina. 
“She is very staid and decorous for one so young, an<l 
when she is with you I shall have no fear of your 
getting into mischief.” 

Miss Sabrina laid a strong emphasis on the last 
word, and Virginia knew very well what it meant, for 
only the day before she had disgraced herself in Miss 
Sabrina ’s eyes, by asking into the house a soldier whom 
she had found sitting by the roadside overcome with 
hunger. Had he been a suffering patriot Miss Sabrina 
would have had no fault to find, but he proved to be 
a tory. 

“And that is vastly worse than being a redcoat,” 
she declared. “The tories are the colonies’ most in- 
sidious and unnatural foes.” 

“None the less he needed the cup of cold water,” 
maintained the little maid, stoutly. Yet, when the 
man, inferring from her kindness that she was in 
sympathy with his politics, boldly avowed his alleg- 
iance to King George, she told him with much dignity 
that it would be far more to his credit to stand by his 
countrymen; and with Miss Sabrina, who was keep- 
ing a sharp eye on Virginia and her guest, this answer 
went a long way toward making amends for her in- 
discretion. 

Catalyntie, however, was not expected till the fol- 
lowing week, and a great deal of “mischief” can be 
compassed in the course of seven days. 

The British were now making strenuous efforts to 
gain control of the Hudson and one afternoon it was 
learned at the manor that they had two large sloops 


71 


Captured by the Enemy 

moored on the opposite side of the river. Naturally, 
to tlie entire household, this was an alarming piece of 
news, but while Mrs. Jason and Miss Sabrina were 
wringing their hands, and Mammy Ann, with her red 
turban awry, was down on her knees, Virginia became 
possessed with a desire to get a closer look at the in- 
vaders, and taking her father’s old field glass she 
crossed the lawn and mounted the horse-block. The 
river was as still as a floor, with no moving sail of 
any sort in sight, but near the farther bank the two 
sloops were riding at anchor, and just beyond them a 
feathery curl of smoke caught her eye, convincing her 
that somewhere between the grand old oaks the red- 
coats had started a camp-fire. Below her, tethered 
to its little pier, lay her rowboat. If Catalyntie were 
only there to go with her, she would venture out a 
short distance. As it was, she would try hugging the 
shore — there would be no danger in that — and if she 
could bring her glass in range with the camp, perhaps 
she might discover something of importance. She was 
thoroughly at home in a rowboat — ^when Hal, who had 
been her teacher, challenged her to race with him, he 
had to pull his best strokes to keep up with her — ^but 
soon, spying a tent beneath the trees with two or three 
soldiers lounging in front of it, she grew so inter- 
ested in making entries in her mental notebook that 
she failed to see that one of her oars had slipped from 
its thole, and when at last she laid down the glass it 
had drifted out of reach. It was too good an oar to 
lose and she tried hard to recover it, but, finally, 
realizing that the chase was leading her too far from 


72 


At the Manor 


home for safety, she gave it up and made for the 
dock. 

Luckily she knew how to scull, but sculling was 
slow work, and meanwhile a dory had put out from 
one of the anchored vessels. In vain she plied the 
paddles — before she could gain her haven the boat 
had overtaken her. There were two men in it, and one 
of them, possessing himself of her painter, remarked 
that, seeing the plight she was in, they had felt com- 
pelled to come to her rescue, and, though she assured 
them that she needed no help, they insisted on taking 
her in tow. Their language was so courteous that at 
first she felt no alarm, but, to her dismay, they pulled 
straight for the sloops, and in spite of her indignant 
protest, she was presently landed in the enemy ^s 
camp. 


XI 


A BRAVE DEMAND 

Now it chanced that April afternoon that the twini^ 
had gone a-fishing, and Blind Man’s Well, the little 
pond in which they were trying their Inch, was so 
shut in with rocks and trees that they could see noth- 
ing of the river. But when, having filled their basket, 
they wound their lines and climbed the bank, they be- 
held a spectacle that caused them to set up a shout for 
the big brother. 

‘^Jeem Jubah!” Buvah Jeem Jubah! Oome quick! 
Dem webcoats hab got ou’ Miss Wyginny.” 

But Jeems Jubah was in the back kitchen, gloomily 
discussing the war question with Sis Sue, and it was 
several minutes before they succeeded in finding him. 

In the meantime Captain Simpson had landed 
Catalyntie at the manor — ^her friends having unex- 
pectedly decided to leave the city a week earlier than 
the time named in her letter — and he did no tarrying at 
the wharf, for after an exasperating calm, a lively breeze 
had sprung up and he was eager to make the most of it. 

It was not yet sundown, and to Catalyntie as she 
started for the house, the place seemed strangely 
silent. But the next instant there was a rush of feet 
and three grotesque figures came running full tilt 


74 


At the Manor 


toward her. As they drew nearer, she recognized 
Jeems Juhah and the twins and saw that they were 
armed with the old duck guns and sabers that from 
her earliest remembrances of the manor, had hung 
above the hearth in the keeping-room. 

“Why, boys! Where are you bound forT^ she cried, 
alarmed as well as amused. 

“0, Miss Clintyl Don’ yo’ stop us,” begged Jeems 
Jubah. “We uns pow’ful glad yo’s come, but ou’ 
Miss Wyginny hab be’n took pwisoneh by dem web- 
coats quos de wibah an’ we uns gwine to riscue her.” . 

Catalyntie caught her breath. “I’ll go, too,” she 
said promptly. 

“Bet’ not. Miss Clinty,” Jeems Jubah advised earn- 
estly. “Yo’ uns mought git took yo’self.” 

“I am going with you,” reiterated Catalyntie. And 
the boys rushed on without further argument. 

“If we could only stop the Katydid! she ex- 
claimed, as they pushed from the dock. But the 
Katydid, skimming the water with swelling canvas, 
was by that time too far away for the captain to hear 
their shouts. The boys, however, were good rowers, 
and with two sets of oars in the row-locks, they made 
short work of the ferrying. 

As they marched from the boat, Catalyntie taking 
the lead, an imposing looking officer advanced and 
asked their errand. 

“We have come,” said Catalyntie, with a resolute 
note in her quiet voice — a voice that plainly revealed 
her gentle breeding — “to request the release of my 
cousin whom your men captured this afternoon.” 


A Brave Demand 


75 . 


‘‘Indeed!^’ the officer answered, lifting his brows 
as he surveyed the young captain and her dusky at- 
tendants. “But the prisoner is a spy. She has been 
making use of a field-glass.’’ 

Catalyntie straightened her shoulders and her gray 
eyes grew black. 

“And are the king’s soldiers afraid of a little maid 
who chances to be innocently amusing herself on the 
other side of the river?” she asked. 

Before the officer could reply, a matronly woman, 
with a soft-tinted English face, appeared at the door 
of the tent, holding Virginia’s hand. 

“Don’t tease her, colonel,” she entreated. “She is 
much too brave a girl to be annoyed in this way, and 
her little cousin, I am sure, meant no harm.” 

“Well, well, let her have her cousin and be gone,” 
growled the colonel, “but we’ll keep the field-glass. 
And we’ll keep, too, this young African,” he added, 
indicating Jeems Jubah. “A fair exchange is no 
robbery, and he looks as if he might be a serviceable 
piece of property.” 

“And what right have you, pray, to take my uncle’s 
boy?” Catalyntie demanded indignantly. “He is one 
of the family, and not a step do we stir without him.” 

“Don’ yo’ make no words ’bout me. Miss Clinty,” 
urged Jeems Jubah. “I’d stay glad ’nough if yo’ 
uns’d on’y git ou’ Miss Wyginny Feedoshy safe home.” 

“And what would your poor mammy do if we went 
back without you? You know very well, Jeems Jubah, 
that it would break her heart. No, if one stays, we all 
stay.” 


At the Manor 


76 

“Hoity-toity, young woman! W-lio are you, I^d like 
to know, that you dare to brave the king’s officers in 
this fashion?” demanded the colonel. 

“Sir William,” pleaded the dove-like voice at the 
tent door, “do let them go. They all deserve their 
freedom, the young leader for her courage, and the 
black boys for their loyalty. There,” giving Virginia 
a kiss, she whispered, “Run to the boat, little one.” 

“Oh, thank you. Madam,” Virginia whispered back, 
dipping a curtsy. And with the field-glass under her 
apron, she sped to the shore. 

“Oh, go, go, the whole kit of you, or there’ll be 
war in the camp,” stormed the colonel, trying to frown 
down the twinkle in his eyes. “Lady Harriet, you are 
a marplot.” And turning from Catalyntie and her 
bodyguard, he shook his finger at the pretty vision in 
the doorway. “You have cheated me out of a sturdy 
lackey. I’ve half a mind to nab him yet.” 

But the rescuers had already made good their retreat 
and were cutting the water with triumphant oars. 

The next morning the sloops had vanished. 

“You ought to go down on your knees and thank 
the Lord, Virginia, that you escaped from their 
clutches,” declared Miss Sabrina, who had not neglect- 
ed to give her pupil a solemn lecture the evening be- 
fore, “they could so easily have carried you off, and 
all for your idle curiosity.” 

Even her father, returning shortly after her ad- 
venture, felt it a duty to take her to task for so need- 
lessly exposing herself to danger. But she had saved 
up for him a bit of information that made him call her 
a wise little woman. 


A Brave Demand 


77 


‘^When I was led ashore,*’ she said, ‘Hhere were 
three men sitting under the trees with their backs to 
the river, talking very earnestly, and I heard one of 
them say, ‘At all hazards we must get possession of 
the Hudson, and to do this we shall have to acquaint 
ourselves with every point suitable for fortification*.” 

“Ay, ay, that *s what they *re after,** said the major. 
“But General Washington means to head them off, 
and if any more of their ships undertake to come up 
the river, they’ll find themselves between two fires 
— Fort Lee on one side, and Fort Washington on the 
other — and with our General Clinton guarding the High- 
lands, we need have no fear — for the present.** 

A fortnight later, Harold and Theodore came from 
school, overjoyed in being able to report that the 
academy had closed its doors for an indefinite period, 
so many of the students having become soldiers that 
it was impossible for it, with the few that were left, 
to meet expenses ; and before the day ended, they, too, 
had enlisted, joining a company of neighboring volun- 
teers, of which Harold was immediately elected captain 
with Ted for his lieutenant. 

“And father is to be our colonel,** cried Harold. 
“Could anything be finer? That’s what I consider a 
very fatherly dispensation of Providence.” 

They were not expecting to he called into active 
service at once, but not a week had passed when the 
regiment was ordered to join General Putnam’s forces 
in New York as promptly as possible, and the follow- 
ing day they rode away with their colonel, brimful of 
the courage and enthusiasm of youth. 

But they left heavy hearts behind them. 


XII 


AN UNWELCOME FURLOUGH 

‘‘It^s a mig^hty good piece of noos that’s just come 
from Philadelphy,” said Jonas Stoutenburg, halting 
one afternoon at the manor, and forestalling the public 
carrier. ‘^It’s most too good to be troo.” 

“Oh, please make haste and tell us,” cried Virginia. 

“Well, it’s just this,” continued the man with tantal- 
izing slowness. “Mr. John Hancock, President of 
Congress, has signed the Declaration of Independence, 
and that means,” he added, flourishing his empty pipe 
by way of emphasis, “that instead of bein’ British 
colonies an’ havin’ to knuckle under to England, we’re 
hencefor’ard the United States of America.” 

“Indeed, it is good news,” said Catalyntie, “but it 
will surely make King George all the more bitter 
against us.” 

“Prob’ly,” Jonas admitted, “but let him do his best, 
our folks are bound to come out ahead if they keep 
on fightin’ the way they did at Bunker Hill, an’ that’s 
what they’re goin’ to do if it takes ’em ten years.” 

“No footsteps backward,” quoted Virginia, as Jonas 
drove away in his lumbering market wagon, “now that 
the colonies have declared their independence.” 

“No, and that involves,” said Catalyntie, “more 
bloodshed unless England, seeing how determined we 
are, consents to settle the quarrel amicably.” 


An Unwelcome Furlough 


79 


That England might do this was what every peace- 
lover was hoping, and some were so optimistic as to 
begin to count on the speedy disbanding of the army. 

But up the river one August day came the appalling 
tidings of the battle of Long Island, and two days later 
Madam Vanderbeek arrived at the manor, heartbroken 
over the taking of New York by the British. 

Father is with General Putnam, having gone as 
army surgeon,’’ she said, between her sobs, ^‘and our 
home is in the hands of the enemy — our beautiful old 
home !” 

*‘Oh, don’t take it so to heart, mother, dear,” en- 
treated Catalyntie, unable to hold her own tears in 
check. ^^If father and the others come through un- 
harmed, we ’ll have much to be thankful for. ’ ’ 

^‘Yes — but when shall we know?” sighed the exile. 

Two weeks of suspense went by, and then one even- 
ing Harold hobbled up the steps. He had been with 
General Putnam the day the Americans were com- 
pelled to abandon New York, and during the flight 
had sprained his ankle so badly that he was unable 
to go on. Fortunately his company at the time was 
not far from Murray Hill, and with the help of a com- 
rade, he had managed to reach the porch. 

Cousin Murray,” he said, ‘^who chanced to be 
standing there watching for a courier, at once found a 
hiding place for me, and none too soon, either, for I was 
scarcely under cover when General Howe and his officers 
rode up. They had been in hot pursuit of our forces, 
but on reaching Murray Hill, seeing what an inviting 
place it was, and being badly jaded, they were minded 


8o 


At the Manor 


to stop and refresh themselves. Thereupon Cousin Mur- 
ray herself went out to welcome them, and, having 
greeted them with a gracious smile, she urged them so 
sweetly with her gentle Hhees’ and Uhous^ to come in 
and partake of such cheer as she had at hand, that 
every one of them dismounted and followed her into 
the house. Cousin Hetty was with her, and between 
them, with their entertaining talk and the toothsome 
fare they set before them, the British officers boasting 
of their victories and bantering their hostess on the 
sorry predicament of the Americans, were beguiled 
into staying until Putnam and all those with him were 
too far away to be overtaken. I can vouch for it that 
there was some lusty applauding for Cousin Murray 
when our men heard the story, and she well deserved 
it.’’ 

He had remained with the Murrays until Jonas 
Stoutenburg, stopping to leave some fruit and vege- 
tables, offered, on hearing of his accident, to take him 
home. 

‘I’ve got too far along in life to go soldierin’ my- 
self,” said the old farmer, “but I stand ready to do, 
what I can to boost the cause, an’ if you’re willin’ to 
let me tuck you under my empty bags an’ baskets, 
you’re more’n welcome to ride with me.” 

It did not promise to be a very comfortable journey, 
with his ankle still in splints, but feeling that he had 
already trespassed too long on the Quaker cousins’ 
hospitality, and at heart a bit homesick, he was glad 
to accept the conditions. 

“Who do you think is with Putnam?” he asked, 


An Unwelcome Furlough 8i 

making a sudden break in the description of the re- 
treat. 

‘‘Anyone we knowT* inquired Catalyntie. 

“Well, he^s not exactly a stranger. It’s Dick Car- 
roll.” 

Virginia’s eyes widened. 

“He must make a splendid soldier,” she said. 

“Ay, he does, and it is rumored that he is to be 
promoted for his heroism at the battle of Long Island. 
He was with Smallwood’s regiment and came near 
sharing the fate of most of his fellows. Except for 
the self-sacrificing persistency of those brave Mary- 
landers in holding the British at bay, very few of our 
soldiers would have survived. Dick says he never saw 
anything to equal it. I didn’t see the worst of the 
fighting — I saw enough, God knows! Oh, war! war!” 

Presently he went on. “Putnam is an able general 
and if the odds hadn’t been so tremendously against 
him that day. New York wouldn’t have been surrend- 
ered. The one choice left him was that of having his 
whole army slaughtered. As it was, they got oft only 
by the skin of their teeth, and they could scarcely have 
done that but for the enemy’s detention at Murray 
Hill.” ^ 

“Cousin Murray is a marvel,” said Madam Vander- 
beek. “Not every woman would have had the courage 
to waylay the foe in that fashion.” 

“Oh, in these days, women have to be as courageous 
as men,” said Harold, “and as energetic. Shortly be- 
fore the battle, I met Major Jermain and Captain 
L’Hommedieu, of Sag Harbor, and they said that at 


82 


At the Manor 


the East End so few men are left that the women 
are having to do the farm work. No section of the 
country is going through harder straits, for the Brit- 
ish have control of the Island from Brooklyn to Mon- 
tauk. But in all the colonies the women are likely to 
have similar opportunities to prove their courage and 
patriotism before the war is over. Possibly, even here, 
you may be put to the test. But if ever you need a 
place of refuge, don^t forget the — ” 

Before the sentence could be finished, Jeems Jubah 
rushed in, his eyes white-rimmed with terror, and re- 
ported that three British soldiers were landing at the 
dock. 

*‘An’ if yo’ doesn’ want to be captivated, Ma^sa 
HawolV' he advised urgently, ‘‘yo' uns better ‘scape 
out de back do^ whle we uns head ’em off.” 

“Oh, fly to the cave, Harold,” cried Virginia, as 
Jeems Jubah vanished. 

“What, leave Aunt Evelina and you girls unpro- 
tected!” he retorted, indignantly. “Indeed, 111 do 
nothing of the kind.” 

“Then well go with you — all three of us — and we 
must be quick about it, for already they are at the 
burying-ground, ” said Virginia, peering out, “and 
they are shying past it as if they expected to see a 
spook. I do believe they’re afraid. But, come, Hal, 
come. They 11 be here in a minute.” 

“The other arm, Virginia,” directed Catalyntie, 
with a forceful grip on Hal’s elbow. 

Virginia sprung to her help, and finding himself no 
match for the two of them with but one leg to stand 


An Unwelcome Furlough 83 


on, he gruffly gave in and they succeeded in getting 
him safely to the cave, the redcoats, happily, having tar- 
ried at the grape-trellis, unable to resist the tempting 
clusters. 

Virginia at once climbed to the outlook, while 
Catalyntie, taking her knitting from her reticule, sta- 
tioned herself at the entrance. 

“We shall, no doubt, have to spend the rest of the 
day here,^’ she said, placidly adjusting her needles. 

“Ay, and no telling what may be going on at the 
house, meanwhile,’* growled Harold, bracing himself 
with his crutch. 

“Oh, don’t worry, laddie,” said Madam Vander- 
beek, who had hastened after them. “The boys will, 
no doubt, be able to keep them from doing much mis- 
chief. The worst of it is, having to stay pent up in 
this cheerless place with not so much as a hassock to 
sit on.” 

“It is too had we didn’t think to bring a chair 
ior you, mother,” said Catalyntie; “it is so hard for 
you to stand. And Harold, too, ought to have one.” 

A moment later, Virginia called down to them that 
the men were going. 

“Why, they are all munching apples,” she ex- 
claimed. And flying to the house she found that they 
had made no search whatever, having landed, they 
told Jeems Jubah, merely to ask permission to gather 
some of the windfalls in the orchard. 

“Oh, that is a likely story,” scoffed Harold. “No 
doubt they wanted the apples, but precious little court- 
esy they’d have wasted in asking for them if they 


At the Manor 


84 

hadn’t wanted something else — can depend on 
that.” And so impressed was the whole family with 
the belief that they had come as spies, that an anxious 
watch was kept for their return. 

“In case Harold has to be shut in the cave for any 
length of time,” said Virginia, “even if he doesn’t 
have to sleep there, we must do what we can to make 
it comfortable for him.” And the next morning they 
managed to smuggle into the hiding-place a cot, a 
small table, and two or three chairs. 

Two days went by, however, without bringing any 
new alarm. Then Jeems Jubah, with the twins at his 
heels, dashed to the porch with the information that he 
had overheard some redcoats under the bank near the 
dock, swear that they were coming ashore that evening 
armed to the teeth to search the house. 

“Kaze w’i,” he explained, “dey says dey’s shuh 
yo’ uns got some uns hidin’ woun’ heah.” 

Straightway on hearing this, Virginia and Catalyn- 
tie, the only ones present, put on their thinking caps, 
and they were not long in making their plans. 

“Jeems Jubah,” said Virginia, “you and the twins 
are to arm yourselves with all the weapons you can 
raise and take your stand on the ledge above the land- 
ing. Then you must keep a sharp eye on the dock and 
fire the minute the first man steps ashore. But fire 
above their heads, Jeems. It is not worth while to 
hurt them if we can help it. The most we want to do 
is to give them a good scare — and when we hear you 
shoot, we’ll pelt them with pebbles. We want you to 


An Unwelcome Furlough 85 


bring us a bushel-basketful of the smoothest and round- 
est you can find. Now, be quick about it, please.’’ 
And the instant they were out of sight, Hal was hur- 
ried to the cave again. 

‘‘Kemember, you are not 'to stir while we’re gone,” 
enjoined Virginia, tucking a pillow under his lame 
ankle as he lay on the cot, inveighing against his help- 
lessness. ‘‘What is that you’re saying? Why, Hal! 
That sounds almost like swearing. I’m afraid you 
picked that up in the army.” 

‘‘Eh! But you’d want to be saying something, too, 
if you had to lie here like a stick, with a boatload of 
British at the landing.” 

“It is a pity he can’t take it more calmly,” said 
Catalyntie, as the vines closed behind them. “People 
only tire themselves worrying over what can’t be 
helped.” 

On the back porch they found the basket of pebbles, 
and while the boys were arming themselves, they car- 
ried it 'to the cave. Then they mounted to the watch- 
tower and waited. 

But it was not till the last gleam of twilight faded 
that 'their strained ears caught the grinding of a keel. 
At the same instant the sound was heard by the senti- 
nels stationed on the rocky ledge below them, and as 
the men scrambled ashore, muttering curses on the 
blackness of the night, a succession of shots, peril- 
ously near their heads, together with a volley of stones, 
greeted them. A fresh burst of oaths ensued, but a 
second blast from the shotguns, followed with another 
torrent of pebbles, produced a panic, and the men, 


86 


At the Manor 


tumbling into the boat, seized their oars and splashed 
out into the river. 

‘^That was a fine scheme,’’ said Harold, as he limped 
back to the house, with Virginia on the one side and 
Catalyntie on the other. “You each deserve a medal.” 

But the girls were very well content to do without 
the medals — the enemy had been routed and Harold, 
for the time, was safe. 

The next morning Jeems Jubah and the twins asked 
for a private interview with Virginia and Catalyntie. 

“We uns wants to info’m yo’ uns,” began Jeems 
Jubah — always the spokesman for the trio — ^“dat we’s 
discubbed wah yo’s be’n a hidin’ Ma’sa Hawol! Wen 
yo’ uns fowed dem stones las’ ebenin’, we’s ’fwaid yo’ 
hadn’t got a safe place to stan’, so dis mawnin’ we 
’gun to ’zamine woun’, and dat’s how we foun’ it. 
We’s might s’p wised, an’ seein’ yo’ uns hadn’ neber 
tol’ we uns ’bout it, we uns had de feelin’ dat we’d 
ought to own up to yo’.” 

“Well, boys, now that you know,” said Virginia, 
regretfully, “what are you going to do about it?” 

“We isn’ gwine to tell a libin’ soul,” said Jeems 
Jubah. 

“’Deed we isn’,” chorused the twins. 

“But yo uns ought to hab a do’ put up,” advised 
Jeems Jubah. “Mought a wild cat come along some 
night.” 

“Oh, we hadn’t thought of that,” said Virginia, in 
a tremor. And as he was handy with tools, she set 
him at the door at once, telling him to make it a close 
lattice and paint it green. When finished, it was 


An Unwelcome Furlough 87 


hinged to the sturdy trunk of the grape vine that hid 
the entrance and a wooden latch was added that could be 
securely fastened on the inside ; then a lighter lattice was 
fitted to the window. 

‘‘Now/’ said Virginia, “we shall have no fear of 
four-footed enemies.” 

“Y'es; it’s a very ingenious contrivance,” said Hal. 
The fear that it would be of no avail in shutting out a 
two-footed enemy, he kept to himself. If he could 
only stay to protect them ! But his ankle was rapidly 
improving and at the end of a fortnight he was again 
at his post. 


XIII 


AN INTERRUPTED NUTTING PARTY 

One morning a rumor reached the manor that a 
British squadron was standing up the Hudson. 
Rumors, however, were not always reliable, and Vir- 
ginia and Catalyntie had planned to go a-nutting that 
day, for they knew that on Walnut Hill the chestnuts 
were opening their burs and the hickory nuts had be- 
gun to drop. 

The wooded heights along the river outvied the Brit- 
ish officers in their splendor of gold and scarlet, while 
the air was full of a subtile fragrance — sweeter and 
rarer than that shaken from a box of old laces. It 
was far too fine a day to lose, and, even though there 
might be gunboats passing below, there was no proba- 
bility that there would be any one to molest them on 
the quiet hillside where the nuts were waiting to be 
harvested. Besides, there was safety in numbers, and 
as Madam Vanderbeek had insisted that Miss Sabrina 
and Sis Sue should go with them, in addition to Jeems 
Jubah and the twins, they felt themselves doubly 
guarded. 

It was two miles to Walnut Hill, and Miss Sabrina 
found it a tiresome tramp, but for Catalyntie and Vir- 
ginia, it was hardly more than ‘‘a hop and a skip,’’ 
and they wondered that anyone could go with lagging 


An Interrupted Nutting Party 89 


steps when the world was such a mass of color and 
the air so balmy. Earlier in the day, a heavy fog had 
shrouded hills and valley, but now a flood of sun- 
shine was making a tremulous glitter among the moist 
leaves, and flecking the grass with broken disks of 
gold, while between the softly swaying tree tops, there 
were glimpses of a sky serenely blue ; and in spite of 
the darkening war clouds, the young feet tripped 
lightly along the shadowy greenwood way that fair 
October morning. 

The boys had gone ahead to shake down the nuts, 
but before the others could join them, they came rush- 
ing back with a wild flurry of pantomimic protests. 

‘‘Don^ yo’ uns come no fuddah,’’ cried Jeems Jubah, 
as soon as he could make himself heard. ‘‘We uns 
had n^ mo’n clum de fus’ twee wen we seed a lot o’ 
webcoats haltin’ down in dat hollah tuddeh side o’ de 
hill — mo’n a dozen ob ’em — an’ if dey happens to 
kotch sight o’ yo’ uns, dey ’ll gobble yo’ up quickeh’n 
lighten’.” 

“Oh, go to, Jeems Jubah,” said Catalyntie. “Prob- 
ably you have taken for soldiers some of those stiff 
cedars in their cloaks of red woodbine. At all events, 
they would be too far away to harm us.” 

Virginia was inclined to heed the boy’s advice, but 
seeing that Catalyntie was keeping on, she bravely 
ventured after her, and Sis Sue followed, though her 
eyes were bulging with fright. 

“Call ’em back, Miss Sabiny; call ’em back,” en- 
treated Jeems Jubah. “Dey’ll be took fo’ shuh!” 

But Miss Sabrina had turned about at the first warn- 


90 


At the Manor 


ing, without waiting to know what anyone else thought 
of doing, and Jeems Jubah’s petition, if it reached her, 
fell on ears that were listening for nothing but the 
blare of guns, and with the twins close in his wake, he 
dashed up the hill again, too anxious for the safety of 
those in his charge to waste breath in voicing his 
opinion of Miss Sabrina’s desertion. 

By that time the girls had gained the spot where, in 
their fright, the boys had dropped their bags and 
baskets, and where, securely screened, they could see 
all that was passing in the ravine below. And the 
first glance assured them that Jeems Jubah had made 
no mistake: at the base of the hill lurked a company 
of British soldiers, all eager and alert, as if waiting 
to pounce on a foe. 

‘‘Oh, if our men only knew of it, how easily they 
could hem them in,” said Virginia. “And look ! Look ! 
I verily believe there’s a company of them crossing 
yonder. They are surely not redcoats. But they are 
not strong enough. They will be over-powered. If 
we could only give them warning!” 

“Mought buil’ a bon fiah,” suggested Jeems Jubah. 
And straightway from a capacious pocket he produced 
a tinder-box. 

But when they had found an open space where their 
signal, while out of range of those beneath them, could 
be easily seen by any one on the opposite side of the ra- 
vine, it proved no easy task to light the brushwood. 

“Burn the bags,” ordered Virginia, “and the 
baskets. And, here, take this.” And her straw hat 
went to swell the flame. Then Catalyntie’s was tossed 


An Interrupted Nutting Party gi 

in, and the boys would willingly have added theirs, but 
now the brush had ignited and was making a royal 
blaze against the dusky background of forest-clad 
hills. 

^‘If we only had a flag,’’ said Virginia, distressed to 
find that the Continentals were still advancing. 
‘‘Jeems Jubah, can you get us a pole?” she cried, a 
red shawl that Sis Sue had been carrying for Miss 
Sabrina, catching her eye. And presently, with a 
walnut sapling for a staff, the shawl was floating gayly 
in the wind. 

‘‘Whether they see it or not, it’s hard to tell,” said 
Catalyntie. “Yes, now they are turning back.” 

“No!” gasped Virginia; “they’ve encountered some 
of the British, and are retreating! Oh! Oh!” 

Just then a voice from somewhere in the tree-tops 
startled them. 

“Pull down your flag and fly. They are climbing 
the hill — ^the redcoats!” 

“Hal!” exclaimed Virginia. 

“Sh-sh! Go!” came in muffled tones. “You’ve not a 
minute to lose. They’re after me, and I’m safer here.” 

“Jeems Jubah,” whispered Virginia, whipping the 
shawl from the flag staff, “couldn’t you boys hide near 
him and keep watch ? Perhaps — ^if anything happened 
— you might be able to help him.” 

“Co’se we uns’ll stay if yo’ sez so, Miss Wyginny, 
but who’s gwine to took cah o’ yo’ uns?” 

“Oh, Sis Sue will be with us.” Jeems Jubah edged 
closer to Sis Sue. 

“Yo’U look out fo’ ’em, won’t yo’, honey?” he 


92 


At the Manor 


begged, under his breath. “I doesn’ want nuthin’ 
happenin’ to yo’, but we uns got to ’tect de fambly.” 

Yo’ go long an’ do yo’ dooty, Jeems Jubah, an’ do’n 
be bovin’ ’bout me doin’ mine,” said Sis Sue sharply, 
but with a belying softness in her big black eyes: ‘^Lil 
Miss an’ Miss Clinty am all wite. I isn’ gwine to ’zaht 
’em.” 

So while Jeems Jubah and the twins crept into a 
thicket and waited, the girls, hatless and empty-handed, 
fled homeward, their hearts full of dread forebodings. 


XIV 


A GRATEFUL ENEMY 

And now all the enchantment had vanished from the 
woodside path, and the young feet went swiftly only 
because fear goaded them, for every shadow across the 
grass, and every rustle of the leaves suggested an 
enemy in ambush. 

Meanwhile, Miss Sabrina, with her somewhat 
tangled story, had thrown the rest of the household 
into a state of dire alarm, and when the girls and 
Sis Sue appeared. Madam Vanderbeek was so re- 
lieved that she forgot for the moment that there waa 
any further cause for anxiety. But Mammy Ann was 
half beside herself. **On’y de good Lawd knows wah 
dem chillens is,” she wailed, shaking her turbaned head. 

Nine o’clock came and the boys were still missing. 

Virginia could offer no word of comfort, and though 
finally she persuaded the others not to sit up for them, 
she kept an anxious vigil at her own window, feeling 
that she was largely answerable for whatever might 
have befallen them. 

‘^You would be wiser to try to get a little sleep,” 
advised Catalyntie, drowsily. ‘‘Watching won’t hurry 
them.” 

But Virginia had no sleep in her eyes. 

Again and again the tall clock in the hall chimed the 
hour, and at last it was day-break. 


93 


94 


At the Manor 


^‘Hark!’’ she cried. '‘I believe they are coming/' 
But a closer look showed — instead of Jeems Jubah and 
the twins — two soldiers toiling up the path, one of them 
apparently unable to walk without help. 

‘‘Surely that's Harold," she exclaimed. And, with 
Catalyntie close behind her, she rushed down-stairs 
and unbolted the door. 

As the men drew nearer she was dismayed to find 
that Harold's companion was a redcoat. 

“Don't be frightened," called Halj “he is a friend 
in disguise." 

“Ay, you've nothing to fear, little maid," said the 
stranger. “I've no mind to harm the lad, nor any one 
else belonging to you, for I am the enemy to whom you 
gave the ‘cup of cold water.' But you must make 
haste to hide him, for it was suspicioned that he was 
carrying a message to General Washington and our 
scouts are still searching for him." 

Before she could thank him he was gone. But there 
was neither time nor thought to spare for him, for 
Harold, faint from loss of blood, was in need of in- 
stant care, and again the cave became his refuge. 

Fortunately, Catalyntie had been so well instructed 
by her father in surgery that she was quite capable of 
dressing ordinary wounds, and she soon had the in- 
jured leg deftly bandaged. 

When the redcoats spied him, Harold said, he had 
left the tree-top and was trying to edge his way home. 
Evidently they knew where he lived, for he heard one of 
them shouting curses on “the Oak Glade rebel." But 
just as the shot was fired that lamed him, the sound of 


A Grateful Enemy 95 

guns below so terrified them that they fled — all but Vir- 
ginia’s tory. 

“God bless him!” breathed Virginia, with a wet 
cheek against Hal’s sleeve. “And were you really 
carrying a message to General Washington?” 

“Yes, in the beginning, but I had passed it on be- 
fore they gave chase.” 

“Where were the boys meanwhile?” 

“Probably too far away to know my plight, as I 
had managed to give them the slip. It wasn’t worth 
while to have their lives sacrificed.” 

“But think what your life means to us!” said Vir- 
ginia. 

“And think what their lives mean to Mammy Ann,” 
retorted Hal. “I wish I knew they were safe.” 

“Oh, so do I!” And Virginia pressed her lips to- 
gether and silently said a prayer for them. 

Presently there was a shuffling movement at the 
wicker gate. “We uns heah all wite, Miss Wyginny,” 
came softly through the lattice. “We uns twied to 
’tect him, but he done move dat still dat we los’ de twack, 
an’ las’ we gib it up.” 

“You did the best you could, boys,” said Virginia. 
“And now you must make haste and report to Mammy 
Ann.” 

After a little, Hal fell asleep. 

“Do you think, Catalyntie, that we ought to tell 
Aunt Evelina that he is here?” Virginia asked. 

“Not yet. It would only trouble her. I imagine 
the boys suspect it, but if she and the others are not 


At the Manor 


96 

told, they can truthfully say that they know nothing 
about him, should they chance to be questioned. 

^‘But we couldn’t,^’ said Virginia; her alert con- 
science scenting danger. 

“No, but we’ll tell no lies. If possible we’ll parry 
inquiries by keeping out of the way.” 

But while they were at dinner — with Jeems Jubah 
and the twins watching the dock — ^two redcoats appeared 
at the door, having eluded the sentinels by landing half 
a mile below, and there was no chance for them to 
escape. 

“We are searching for a young rebel — ^about twenty 
I fancy — wounded in the leg,” said one of the intrud- 
ers, looking squarely at Catalyntie, “and we’ve good 
reason to think that ’e’s ’arbored some’ers ’ere. Can 
you tell us anything about ’im?” 

“I can tell you that no one answering that descrip- 
tion has come under this roof,” Catalyntie answered 
promptly. 

“I’ll wager you wouldn’t be willing to let us see 
for ourselves, Miss, whether you’re speaking the truth 
OF not,” jeered the man. 

“If you doubt my daughter’s word, you are at lib- 
erty to search the house,” said Madam Vanderbeek, 
divining that the little mistress of the manor was glad 
to be relieved of the responsibility. “Susan, show 
them the way at once.” 

And a pretty chase Sis Sue led them, “upstairs and 
downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber,” taking especial 
pains to make them climb to the attic and ransack 
every nook and corner. And once they flattered them- 


A Grateful Enemy 


97 


selves that they were to be rewarded, for coming on a 
great oak wardrobe, they heard a muffled breathing. 
But after forcing open the doors, they found only Miss 
Sabrina cowering behind a voluminous cloak. 

Virginia and Catalyntie, meanwhile, not daring to 
disappear, had seated themselves in the keeping-room 
with their samplers, apparently interested in nothing 
but the sorting of beads and shaping of letters; and 
the men, when they came down, seeing them so harm- 
lessly employed, hustled on to explore the outbuild- 
ings. 

At last, the ruthless prying ended, they went their 
way, and in the dusk the girls smuggled Hal into the 
house. 

‘‘And you were harboring him after allT’ exclaimed 
Madam Vanderbeek. 

“Yes, mother, dear,’’ Catalyntie owned, with her 
quiet laugh, “but not under this roof.” 

Then, of course, Hal had to be enlightened. 

“So, again, it was a woman’s wit that saved the 
day,” he commented. “Well, that’s worth putting on 
record with the hold-up at Murray Hill.” 

But his blood went hot at the thought of what his 
presence on the premises was costing them. 


XV 


‘‘homEj robin! home I 

‘‘Instead of being a protection, I am only adding to 
your danger, deplored the boy, and this feeling, to- 
gether with his prolonged absence from his regiment, 
came so near wrecking his temper that when a neighbor 
brought the news that General Washington was entrench- 
ing himself at White Plains, with a mere handful of 
men, his nurses had a hard task to manage him. 

“You and Cousin Katharine would do well to sit 
down together and compare notes, said Catalyntie. 
“In that way you might be able to decide which has 
the better excuse for being miserable. Perhaps it 
would be a good plan to send for her.’’ 

“I wish you would,” Harold exclaimed eagerly. 
“She may be a bit down-hearted — who isn’t these 
days, I’d like to know — but I’ve always found her very 
good company, and I’m sure she will be glad to come, 
shut in as she is with no one of her own age to speak 
to, and not a word from Bob yet. You girls don’t have 
half enough sympathy for her.” 

“Wouldn’t it be well to have her come at once, 
Virginia?” Catalyntie asked, with voice and face de- 
mure. “It’s the only way to vindicate ourselves. 

“Oh, by all means,” Virginia laughed. And calling 
Jeems Jubah, she dispatched him with the invitation. 


“Home, Robin! Home!” 


99 


‘‘He could be back in an hour if he were not so 
slow-footed,’’ said Harold, stationing himself at the 
window. 

“Oh, he usually makes very good time,” championed 
Virginia. “And, ^anyway, Katharine will probably 
wait till morning — it is so near night.” 

But deems Jubah returned with a startling answer. 

“Katharine,” wrote Mrs. Brinckerhoff, “would be 
only too glad to go to you, but her cousin, David, has 
just sent word that the British are gathering near 
White Plains with a view to attacking Washington’s 
forces, and with the possibility of a battle so close to 
us, I feel that it would be tempting Providence to let 
her out of my sight for even a day.” 

“No doubt she is right,” said Catalyntie, “and we’ll 
have to make the best of it. It’s a pity, though — on 
Harold ’s account, ’ ’ she teased. 

But Harold was not thinking of Katharine now. All 
his thoughts were centred anew on White Plains. 

“I can walk as well as ever I did,” he boasted, 
throwing down his crutch and starting at a bold pace 
to cross the room, ‘ ‘ and I ’m not going to be coddled any 
longer.” But the next minute he caught at the nearest 
chair. 

“Oh, you mustn’t attempt it yet, Hal,” cried Vir- 
ginia, flying after him. “Only see how weak you 
are.” 

“Not quite as strong as I thought — ^that’s a fact,” 
he grudgingly acknowledged. 

By persevering, however, he was able at the end 
of two days to walk from the cave to the house with- 


100 


At the Manor 


out a support, and learning that Jonas Stoutenburg 
was intending to carry a load of vegetables the next 
night to the men encamped at White Plains, he begged 
him to take him with him. 

“It’s ruther a ticklish job, young man,” objected 
Jonas, stroking his stubby beard, “for they say there’s 
likely to be a fight there any day, an’ if the redcoats 
suspected that one of our boys was part o’ my load, 
I’m afraid we’d both get rough handlin’.” 

But finally he gave in — secretly not sorry that he was 
to have the young fellow for company on his pokerish 
drive. 

“God knows what new danger he may be rushing 
into,” sighed Madam Vanderbeek, “but it’s no use 
trying to hold him back.” 

Virginia stified a sob. 

“I hope he’ll have father put on those thick socks 
right away,” she said, “it’s growing so wintry — and I 
charged him not to forget that — ^that Theodore was to 
have a share of the seed cakes and jumbles.” 

Then her feigning failed her, and she threw herself 
into her aunt’s arms and had a good cry. 

The night was chilly and the old farmer and the 
young soldier, each wrapped in a blanket, were at 
first not disposed to do much talking. 

“Queer,” said Jonas at last, meditatively emptying 
his pipe over the dashboard, “mighty queer it seems 
to me, that at this late day people can’t settle their 
differences ’thought goin’ to war — ’specially them that 
calls ’emselves Christians. In the dark ages ’twas the 
only way folks could get their rights, I s’pose, but in 


“Home, Robin! Home!” 


101 


these enlightened times, they’d ought to be able to find 
some better way an’ come to an understandin’ when 
there’s somethin’ they both want, ’thout clutchin’ each 
other by the throat like dogs over a bone. ’ ’ 

^'Indeed they ought,” said Harold. ‘‘I used to 
think that war was glorious, but one battle was quite 
enough to cure me of that notion. It’s the devil’s own 
work.” 

“Ay, an’ it must make the old fellow want to hug 
himself when he sees men go into it tooth an’ nail as 
they do,” said Jonas. “This’d be a pretty good world 
to live in if folks ’d only behave ’emselves.” 

He refilled his pipe, and, having lighted it with the 
help of the tinder-box, took a round of puffs before 
speaking again. 

“The queerest part of it all,” seems to me, he re- 
flected, “is how a mother can turn against her own 
children. ’Tain’t accordin’ to natur’.” 

“Oh, it’s not Mother England that’s doing it,” pro- 
tested Harold. “If the truth were known, she is doubt- 
less eating her heart out with grief, and, like Rachel, 
refusing to be comforted, for only think how many of 
her sons have already been sacrificed. It is said that 
the people themselves are so opposed to the war that 
King George has had to hire an army of foreigners 
to do the fighting for him.” 

“Well, all I got to say is that King George an’ 
his crew’ll have a good deal to answer for,” said 
Jonas, chirruping to his horses. 

Across the purple hilltops, night was shaking hands 
with morning, but the heavy woods that walled the 
road on either side shut out the dawning light. 


102 


At the Manor 


We ’ll be migbtly fortunate if we get to the village 
’thout runnin’ foul of a redcoat,” said Jonas, knocking 
the ashes from his pipe again. ‘‘Hark! What’s that!” 

“Guns!” cried Harold, starting to his feet. “The 
British must have begun the attack. Oh, make haste, 
make haste!” 

“Now, see here, my boy,” Jonas remonstrated, “just 
keep cool. The fightin’s begun an’ ’taint likely you 
can do any good by rushin’ in at the tail end. It’ll 
be much more sensible for us to stop at a safe dis- 
tance an’ see how things are cornin’ out.” 

Hal was forced to admit that he might be right, but 
it was hard for him to possess his soul in patience with 
the sound of battle in his ears. 

“I can at least do a little reconnoitering, ” he im- 
portuned. 

“Well, yes, if you want to be a target for the first 
redcoat that comes along. Fact is, sonny, I feel sort o’ 
responsible for you, seein’ you’ve put yourself in my 
care, an’ I don’t want you to be takin’ any needless 
risks. You stay here by the stuff an I’ll do the recon- 
niterin.’ I can -edge ’round in these old duds o’ mine 
’thout bein’ noticed, but they’d spot you quicker ’n 
lightnin’.” 

Harold stayed, but he was inwardly chafing, and 
when another burst of cannon reached him, except for 
his sense of honor, he would have left the “stuff” to 
take its chances. 

Jonas, however, was soon with him again. 

“They’re hard at it,” he said breathlessly. “The 
British are tryin’ to cross the Bronx and our men are 


“ Home, Robin ! Home ! ” 


103 


doin’ their best to stop ’em, an’ it’s too soon yet to 
tell which of ^em^s goin^ to be worsted, but it kind o* 
looks to me as if the redcoats was havin^ their hands 
full, though they seem to be ten to our one.” 

Harold waited to hear nothing more; his place was 
with the struggling patriots, and, though Jonas would 
willingly have gone with him, he set off alone, refus- 
ing to let him incur the danger of losing his horses 
and wagon. 

But a mile of rough walking lay before him, and it 
was only by making frequent stops that he at last 
gained the outskirts of the battlefield. 

The Americans were massed on Chatterton’s Hill, 
and for a time they appeared to be holding their own. 
Then, suddenly, to his dismay, they began to fall back, 
and he saw that they were aiming for the entrench- 
ments. 

In the confusion that ensued, a horse dashed by him, 
apparently riderless, but the gleam of a shoulder-strap 
caught his eye, and he discovered that the wearer was 
bent over the saddle-bow. At the same instant he 
recognized the horse. 

Robin! Robin!” he cried, with the low shrill 
whistle to which Robin had never failed to respond. 
“Here, Robin! here!” 

And Robin turning with a cry that was almost human, 
raced to his side and stood there quivering like a child 
rallying from fright. 

“Father!” gasped the young soldier, as he lifted 
the rider’s head. Though the colonel’s face had the 
pallor of death, his heart was , still beating, and in 


104 


At the Manor 


feverish haste the boy began to loosen the straps that 
had kept hun from falling. But a spent ball landing 
beside them warned him that they were too close to the 
enemy ^s forces for safety, and leaping up behind his 
father, he made for the shelter of the woods. Happily 
he had not gone far when he met Jonas. 

‘‘Good thing you stopped him,’^ said the farmer, as 
between them they lifted the colonel into the wagon. 
“It^s a little jubious if he^d held out to get home, 
doubled over like that. Hullo! he’s cornin’ to.” 

The colonel opened his eyes and regarded them with 
a dazed look. By the time they had him comfortably 
bolstered, however, he had rallied sufficiently to ex- 
plain that just before the retreat began a cannon-ball 
boomed past him, throwing Robin heavily to the 
ground, and he could remember nothing more. As to 
who it was that strapped him to his horse he had not 
the slightest inkling. 

“Was Theodore with you?” asked Harold. 

“Ay, neck and neck with me during most of the en- 
gagement — fighting like a veteran, and until that ball 
crashed past me, he had not been wounded. God 
grant that it did not harm him ! Scores of our brave 
men lie dead beside the Bronx, and the marvel is that 
we were not all either captured or killed with such 
odds against us. There were thirteen thousand under 
Olinton and Lord Howe, while we numbered but six 
hundred. Yet twice, for the moment, we thought the 
victory was ours, first, when on trying to cross the river, 
they were repulsed, and again when in attempting to 
scale Chatterton’s Hill they were swept down by Cap- 


“ Home, Robin ! Home ! ” 


105. 

tain Hamilton’s battery and forced to retreat. But 
they soon rallied and defeat for us, with our pittance 
of men, was inevitable.” He drew a long hard breath 
before speaking again. ‘^And now I must get back 
to my post,” he said, ‘^for we are none the worse for 
our wild spurt — Robin and I.” 

*‘Oh, not yet,” pleaded Harold. *^Rest here at least 
until sundown, and then if Jonas will go with us, you 
can share his seat and I’ll ride Robin.” 

‘"Go! To be sure I will,” answered Jonas. ‘Ht’s 
little enough I can do to help along at best, but maybe 
some of our boys’ll relish these vegetables.” 

‘‘Ah, they’ll make a feast for them,” said the col- 
onel, “if the enemy doesn’t waylay us. We’ll have to 
move warily. ’ ’ 

“Trust me for that,” responded Jonas. And, waiting 
until dusk before starting, he managed his team so 
adroitly that scarcely a hoof-fall was audible, nor even 
the creak of a wheel. “Odd we don’t hear more firin’,” 
he observed in a guarded voice. “Must be gittin’ out 
o’ amemition.” 

But on nearing White Plains they found that hostili- 
ties for the time had ceased. 

And then began the search for Theodore. For a 
while there was nothing to encourage them — ^none 
could give them the slightest clue. Then, hearing Hal 
questioning an orderly at his tent door, forth stepped 
Captain Alexander Hamilton, still showing the strain 
and grime of the struggle in which he and his men had 
so valiantly repulsed the enemy. 

“If it is young Stuyvesant you are looking for,” he 


io6 


At the Manor 


Baid, where he is now is past my ken, but just after 
our side began to give away, I saw him risk his own life 
to save that of another. With the enemy ^s guns in 
full blast behind us, he suddenly leaped from his stir- 
rups and helped up a horse that had been in some way 
thrown to the ground. Evidently the animal was un- 
injured, but the rider had fallen forward unconscious, 
and the lad, raising him to an easier position, fastened 
him securely to the saddle. ^Home, Robin, home!’ I 
heard him say, and with the words he gave the horse 
a cut that sent him on a gallop towards the woods. 
Others crowded between us, and whether the boy 
reached a place of safety or fell into the enemy’s hands 
— God knows! But it was a brave deed and if he is 
still able to serve it ought to bring promotion.” 

^‘Ah, that was Ted — I was sure of it,” said Harold, 
turning to his father. And unable to learn anything 
more from those that had taken part in the engage- 
ment, they went over the battle-field, scanning, shud- 
deringly, the ghastly faces that stared with unseeing 
eyes at the pitying stars. 

^‘They have given their lives in a noble cause,” said 
the colonel, “but God help those who will watch in 
vain for their coming.” 

Harold covered his face with his hands to shut out 
the grewsome sight. 

“Father ! Father !” he cried. “How terrible war is ! 
Truly, as Jonas says, ‘there ought to be some better 
way ’.” 

“Yes; it is terrible, laddie, however just and noble 
the cause. And, oh, the shame of it, that, it should be 


“ Home, Robin ! Home ! ” 


107 


between England and America that are practically one 
people. Old Jonas is right — there ought, indeed, to 
be some better way. Ay, and it’s coming, Hal. Though 
Satan still finds a place in the councils of the nations, 
the Prince of Peace will in time, prevail against him. ’ ’ 

For a moment father and son stood with their arms 
about each other. Then they renewed their quest. 
And, at last, on a hillside where the late-blossoming 
goldenrod and purple asters had been trampled down 
and drenched with blood in the mad conflict, they 
found the young hero. But his wounds had left him 
so weak and white that he seemed at first past help. 

‘^Come, now, don’t look at me like that,” he gasped. 
“Only stop this leak in my thigh till I can get back to 
camp and I’ll be good for many another battle.” 

Whereupon they fell to work. Suddenly, as they 
bent over him, he gripped the colonel by the sleeve. 

“I thought — surely I -couldn’t have made a mis- 
take,” he said slowly. “I thought you were on the 
road to the manor. Was it you or your ghost that I 
saw tear away on Ked Robin?” 

“Not my ghost, surely, though I might easily have 
been one before this — a ghost or a prisoner — but for 
you, my boy. Ah, I know very well whose heroism it 
was that saved me, and I can’t help feeling that except 
for that delay you might have escaped those cruel 
hurts that have brought you so near to death.” 

“And, pray, what would life have been worth to me, 
my colonel, had I let yours be sacrificed to save it?” 
asked the lad, nestling closer in the arms that sup- 
ported him. Besides, Robin — ” 


io8 


At the Manor 


His voice fell to a whisper, and it was not till they 
had him safe within the fortifications and Doctor Van- 
derbeek had dressed his wounds, that he was allowed 
to tell his story. 

‘‘I wish you could have seen Captain Hamilton with 
his battery squelch General Clinton’s men when they 
tried to scale Chatterton’s Hill,” he said. “ ’Twas 
masterly — the way he hurled them back. There was 
not much time, however, for playing the spectator. 
Every man had his own work to do, and I can tell you 
there was no shirking.” 

‘‘I can well believe it,” said Hal, ‘^and God knows 
I wish I could have borne my share. But Ted! Ted! 
never again shall I think that war is grand.” 

Jonas, on his way home, stopped at the manor. 

’Twas a pretty plucky thing young Stuyvesant 
did,” he remarked, after describing the colonel’s hair- 
breadth escape, “an’ you’d all ought to be proud of 
him.” 

“Oh, we are,” cried Virginia, through a mist of 
tears, ‘ ‘ and more grateful to him than words can tell. ’ ’ 

“Just wait till we see him,” said Catalyntie. “If 
words fail us, we’ll find some other way.” And then 
in her calmest voice she asked Jonas if he could give 
them any tidings of David Newling. But he had noth- 
ing further to tell except that General McDougal, with 
the remainder of his men, was to go into camp at 
Peekskill. 

A few days later, however, a private messenger re- 
ported that Theodore, with several of his comrades, 


“Home, Robin! Home!” 


109 


was at his grandmother’s in Fishkill, — whither many 
of both the wounded and the dead were sent immedi- 
ately after the battle — while David, whose right elbow 
had been badly injured, was staying with the Brinck- 
erhoffs. 

‘‘Oh, if he is there he’ll be well cared for,” saidi 
Virginia. 

“Yes, and he is very fond of Katharine,” added 
Catalyntie, with a plaintive note in her voice. 

“And why shouldn’t he be?” retorted Virginia. “He 
is her own cousin and they have always been like 
brother and sister. Then, too, just now, as Betty is 
away, he has nowhere else to go, and it must be a com- 
fort to Katharine and her mother to be able to give 
him the attention he needs. I wish we could do as 
much for Ted. To think how long it may be before 
we have even a chance to thank him.” 

The chance came at last, however, Theodore and the 
colonel stopping at the manor for the night on their 
way to headquarters, Theodore having so nearly recov- 
ered from his wounds as to be able to be on duty 
again. 

“It would be hard to overthank him for what he 
did that night,” said Colonel Sprague, when Madam 
Vanderbeek and the girls were trying to unburden 
their hearts. 

“Oh, I’m not the only one to be considered,” inter- 
posed Ted, “for if the colonel and Hal had not turned 
back to look for me, I doubt if I should ever have 
reached camp alive. I merely did what I coaid, and 
Hal, with the help of old Jonas, did the rest — he and 


110 


At the Manor 


Red Robin, — ^Robin was so quick to mind when he 
knew what was expected of him/’ 

“Dear old Robin!” murmured Virginia, slipping 
from her father’s knee. And a little later, Theodore 
found her with her arms around Robin’s neck and a 
moist cheek buried in his silky mane. 

“Come, come, comrade,” cried the lad, stroking her 
shoulder, “there’s no call for tears since all are safe 
and well. ’ ’ 

“Ah, but the tears that we shed for gladness are 
sweeter than laughter, Ted, dear,” said the girl, lift- 
ing her head. * ‘ And Robin knows how glad I am — I ’ve 
told him all about it,” she added archly, blinking her 
wet lashes. 

“Robin is favored,” commented Ted. 

“0 Ted, Ted, I wish I could thank you as easily,” 
she answered, giving him her hand. And hand in hand 
they returned to the house, Virginia with no further 
expression of gratitude at command, and Theodore 
silent from sheer content. 

It was not long after this that the report that Gen- 
eral Howe had sent troops to either capture or de- 
stroy the stores at Peekskill caused fresh alarm at the 
manor. If they came as near as Peekskill it was more 
than probable that they would keep on up the river. 

But presently the good news was received that the 
British had been repulsed. 

“General McDougal,” said the courier, while being 
refreshed with a cup of Mammy Ann’s roast corn cof- 
fee, “after setting fire to his storehouse and barracks, 
retreated with his men — only three hundred all told 


“Home, Robin! Home!” 


Ill 


— to Continental Village, two miles away. Here Colo- 
nel Willets hastened to his help from Fort Constitu- 
tion, and the British, though they had landed a force 
of five hundred, at the end of a sharp skirmish took 
to their boats and made haste to escape down the 
river. ’ ’ 

‘'Thank God, that it was down and not up,^’ said 
Madam Vanderbeek fervently. 

This reprieve from fear, however, was of short dura- 
tion. Suddenly one November day a roar of artillery 
was heard, and until far into the night an incessant 
cannonading echoed and re-echoed along the river, fill- 
ing the stoutest hearts with terror. 

By and by there came a lull. But it was the lull that 
awaits the thunderbolt. In another minute the Hud- 
son was ablaze with pyramids of fire — the pyramids 
being burning ships with all sails set — and as they 
floated past, reflecting their radiance in the water, 
and kindling with their ruddy glare the heights on 
either hand, explosion after explosion rent the air^ 
shaking the hills to their foundations and re-awakening 
the mighty voices of the Dunderberg. Then the light 
died down and on land and river silence and darkness 
reigned. 

Before the dismayed household could gain any in- 
formation concerning the cause of these strange sights 
and sounds, Harold haggard and spent, staggered in. 

“Both Fort Montgomery and Fort Clinton were 
taken,’’ he said, his chin quivering, “and the Ameri- 
cans, refusing to surrender, had to fight their way out 
at the point of the bayonet. But the terrible calamity 


112 


At the Manor 


was due not so much to our lack of men as to the 
criminal carelessness of those whose duty it was to 
guard the narrow pass between Bear Hill and the Dun- 
derberg. General Washington had warned them to 
look out for it, but they were so confident that the 
enemy wouldn^t venture through it that they left it 
unmanned — and this is what has come of their neg- 
lect/’ 

‘‘Seems to me, laddie, there’s a lesson to be drawn 
from that,” said Madam Vanderbeek. “It is very apt 
to happen that where we plume ourselves on being 
so secure from temptation that no safeguard is needed 
just there the enemy pushes in and routs us.” 

“Ay,” he went on, too sore over the disaster to 
weigh the moral, — though in after years it came back 
to him as often as an unguarded pass was assailed by 
the arch enemy — ‘ and it was a traitor that guided the 
British, one that knew just where we were weakest. 
The Lord have mercy on him if he ever falls into the 
hands of the Continentals! Eh, but it maddens me. 
The chevaux-de-frise and all the other obstructions be- 
tween Anthony’s Nose and Fort Montgomery have 
been removed and the British have control of the river. 
It is enough to make even Washington despair.” And 
he buried his face in his hands with a groan. 

“Ah, but we’ll get square with them yet,” he de- 
clared, presently, lifting his head. “While they are 
holding the river Washington will be fighting the bat- 
tle inland.” 

The fulfillment of this hopeful forecast was speedily 
under way, but it was destined to be a battle long drawn 


“Home, Robin! Home!” 


113 


out, and when on Christmas night, half clad, half fed 
and buffeted by a merciless storm, the patriots, with 
their lion-hearted leader, re-crossed the ice-filled Dela- 
ware to surprise the enemy at Trenton, they thought of 
those waiting for them by the desolate hearth-stone and 
wondered in bitterness of spirit if the Heavenly hosts 
were still singing, 

‘‘Peace on earth, good will to menP^ 


XVI 


A TERRIFYING THREAT 

It was nearly a year before Harold visited the 
manor again and then he went by order of Colonel 
Sprague to recuperate, for he had been with his men 
in two battles against Burgoyne in the neighborhood 
of Saratoga — the first at Bemis Heights, the other at 
Stillwater — and, though he had not been wounded in 
either engagement, the strain had told so heavily on 
him that he was temporarily unfit for the field. 

At first lie had not thought it necessary to go to 
the cave, but the family, having learned that Sir James 
Wallace and his brutal followers were on the war-path 
along the Hudson, felt that it was the only safe place 
for him. 

“Then it is the only safe place for you,” he argued. 
And until he had their promise that at the first hint 
of danger they would join him he would not consent 
to leave the house. 

“We don’t propose waiting for that, however,” de- 
clared Virginia, “there is too much talking to be 
done.” And with her arm through his she chatted on 
till they reached the cavern. 

“Very likely there is no foundation for the rumor,” 
she said, mounting to the watch-tower. 

But the sentence was scarcely ended when she saw 
three British frigates standing boldly up the river with 


A Terrifying Threat 


115 

their batteries menacing the shore, and at the same 
minute strident voices reached her from a rowboat 
passing below. 

‘‘Sir James swears that he’ll burn every ’ouse in 
the place — the people are such ’ot rebels,” said one. 
“A good piece o’ work it’ll be, too.” 

“And after that — what?” asked another. 

“After that — the manors.” And with the last splash 
of the oars she caught the word “to-night.” Her 
heartbeats came fast, but they were no match for her 
thoughts. What place it was that the enemy had 
doomed to be burned that night she was unable to 
guess, but “after that — ^the manors,” she repeated with 
white lips. 

And, slipping from the cave, she directed the boys 
to fill every tub and barrel with water and to put the 
fire-buckets beside them ready for use at the first hint 
of a blaze. 

“But we’ll not disturb the household till we have 
to, ’ ’ she said to Catalyntie. 

The possibility of their making the attack in the 
day-time had not occurred to her, but when in the 
middle of the afternoon a man was seen coming warily 
up the driveway she took it for granted that it was 
one of the fire-fiends. Before she could give the alarm, 
however, she discovered that he wore the uniform of 
an American officer. 

“Why!” she cried, all her fear turned to gladness, 
“Why, it’s — it’s Dick! Dick Carroll!” 

But instead of pressing forward, she drew back to 
catch her breath, leaving Catalyntie to receive him. 


ii6 


At the Manor 


He and liis men were on their way to Saratoga to 
join General Gates’ forces, he said. 

‘‘But I couldn’t go by without stopping to ask how 
you are all faring here,” he added, “in these perilous 
times.” 

And now Virginia was coming to meet him with 
both hands outstretched and the wild-rose color play- 
ing hide-and-seek in her sensitive face. 

Dick caught her hands in his and bent over them with 
his courtliest bow. 

“Ah, this brings back the happy days before the 
war,” he said. But the merry smile that had been 
so quick to come in those happy days had gone from 
his eyes, leaving in its stead the deep seriousness of 
eyes that had looked on the horrors of the battle-field 
and the desolation of peaceful homes. 

He had left his horse with his orderly and was in 
too much haste to accept any hospitalities, but when 
he learned that Harold was secreted in the little cave 
he took time to run out to see him. 

“How I wish you were all in some safe place, or 
that I and my men could be near enough to guard you 
while Wallace’s devils are at large,” he said, as he 
returned with Virginia to the veranda. 

“Oh, but we are prepared for them,” the girl an- 
swered, pointing bravely — though with an unsteady 
hand — ^to the tubs and buckets, “and the boys are con- 
stantly on watch.” 

“Ay, and what would it all avail if the fire were 
once kindled? You would as well try to put out the 
flames of Vesuvius with a pail and dipper.” 


A Terrifying Threat 


117 


But in the next breath he commended her fore- 
thought and tried to undo the effect of his tactless 
words with the assurance that what she had overheard 
was in all probability mere braggadocio. 

And while he stood beside her, strong and valiant 
as one of King Arthur ^s knights, she found it easy to 
agree with him, but a sob rose to her lips as the soldier- 
ly figure was merged in the shadow of the oaks. 


XVII 


A NEW DEVICE 

In the meantime, Madam Vanderbeek, standing on 
the porch, had gathered from a heedless word dropped 
by the twins, a hint of the enemy’s threat. 

‘Mf they do make the attack, what is to become of 
us?” she asked, wringing her hands as Virginia came 
up the steps. 

‘‘Why, Aunt Evelina! I never knew you to give 
way like that,” said the girl, turning her sob into a 
smile. “Kichard says — ” 

“Richard is no wiser than we are, my dear,” re- 
torted her aunt, her fears lending an unwonted edge 
to her voice. “We may all be burned in our beds be- 
fore morning for aught he knows to the contrary.” 

“Oh, no, mother, our sentinels are too vigilant for 
that,” said Catalyntie. “They won’t fail to warn us.’' 
Then, with gentle insistence, she persuaded her to take 
a few minutes’ rest on the cushioned settle in the 
library, where a smouldering back-log made a grateful 
warmth. 

“That was wise. It will quiet her nerves, even ii 
she doesn’t sleep,” said Virginia. But they took no 
thought of rest for themselves. They had already de- 
cided that Hal must spend the night in the cave, and 
when, after an early supper. Madam Vanderbeek of- 


A New Device 


119 


fered to sit with him awhile, Catalyntie unfolded to 
Virginia a new device that had occurred to her as a 
means of defense. 

^‘Oh, could we?’^ faltered Virginia. ‘‘Do you think 
we'd be equal to it?" 

“It seems to me worth trying — for once." 

With that Virginia braced herself for the ordeal, 
and in the dusk they managed to carry the necessary 
equipments to the tool-house — a small frame building 
standing midway between the family burying-plot and 
the lawn — without being observed. 

“We intend to wait in the tool-house this evening 
until we know whether they are coming or not," Vir- 
ginia informed Jeems Jubah, as soon as supper was 
over, “and you boys must keep watch behind the 
grave-yard hedge to warn us." 

Now these were hard lines for Jeems Jubah and the 
twins, for they never went past the tombstones after 
dark without a creepy feeling down their spines, but 
their “Miss Wyginny" had given the order and there 
was no gainsaying it. 

“It's a doubtful experiment," Catalyntie admitted, 
as they locked themselves in, “but with the boys on 
duty, we'll have ample time to get to the cave if our 
courage gives out, and mother is safe there with Hal." 

“But we couldn't leave the others at the mercy of 
the enemy," said Virginia. “Miss Sabrina would be 
as helpless as a baby, and so would Mrs. Jason." 

“Oh, Sis Sue is with them, and she is a host in her- 
self," replied Catalyntie, laying a fold of her white 
wrap over her yellow braids. 


120 


At the Manor 


Suddenly, while they waited, Virginia, with a muffled 
cry, sprung to her feet. 

‘‘What is it?” asked Catalyntie, swooping up her 
trailing robe. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Something with wings. It felt 
like a bat. A mouse is bad enough, but a bat with 
wings — ^ugh ! This is just the sort of a place, too, that 
they like — there are so many crannies for them to hide 
in.” And in the fast-fading light, she scanned the 
rafters with another shudder. 

“A bat! Oh, I was afraid it might be a spider,” 
said Catalyntie, regaining her composure. “I can’t 
endure spiders — they are so — so leggy.” 

Several minutes went by — seemingly an hour to the 
young schemers — and no sound broke the weird silence. 

“If they’re coming, I wish they’d be quick about 
it,” moaned Virginia. “Hark! What’s that!” 

There was a cautious tap at the door, and Jeems 
Jubah hoarsely announced through the key-hole that a 
party of redcoats had landed at the dock. 

“Dey’s all got fiah bwands an’ look like dey’s weddy 
to do de debbil’s work,” was the description he gave. 

Again, “something, with wings” brushed Virginia’s 
cheek, and Catalyntie, in trying to open the door, thrust 
her hand into a matted web by the casement, but 
neither of them uttered a sound. 

“Dey’s got as fah as de ho’se block,” went on the 
voice at the key-hole, “an’ yo’ uns bettah ’scape to de 
cabe.” 

“Oh, we are safe enough here — for the present,” 
Virginia told him, in a shaky whisper. “But you 


A New Device 


121 


boys must hide at once, and don’t show yourselves 
till they are past the burying-ground, unless we call 
for you.” And the boys, limp-kneed, crept to the 
dreaded covert. 

It was, indeed, an evil-faced crew that came swag- 
gering up the lawn in the flaring torch-light. Not 
British soldiers these, giving loyal service to their king, 
but conscienceless hirelings who followed war from 
sheer love of bloodshed and pillage. Yet they made a 
great bluster, boasting of the lesson they were going 
to learn the beastly rebels,” and until they were 
opposite the graveyard, one might have supposed that 
there were no braver men in all King George’s army. 
But at that instant, from the shadow of a marble slab 
rose two spectral flgures, each pointing with an out- 
stretched arm to the sunken graves below. 

The suddenness of their appearance on the scene 
made the leader drop his torch and, without stopping 
to pick it up, he wheeled about, shouting to his follow- 
ers to fly for their lives. But already a stampede had 
begun, the superstitious braggarts tumbling over each 
other in their mad haste. 

The spectres stood motionless until the swift stroke 
of oars assured them that the danger was past, then, 
with a frantic embrace, they laughed and cried in the 
same breath. 

‘'Oh, the cowards!” scoffed Virginia; “afraid of two 
shivering little maids!” 

Meanwhile, the boys, no less terrified than the enemy 
but too loyal to run, were crouching by the tool-house 
door, begging the “Young Misses” to stay where they 


122 


At the Manor 


were till the ghosts had gone back to their graves ; and 
when, to put an end to their misery, the ghosts’’ 
dropped their winding sheets, they stared at them in 
open-mouthed amazement. 

^‘Fo’ de Ian’ sake!” ejaculated Jeems Jubah, while 
the twins, with a squeal of relief, took to their heels 
and turned a somersault. 

‘ ‘ Catalyntie ! What if our nerves had failed us?” 
And Virginia shivered again as she recalled the grisly 
spectacle made by the redcoats with their flaming 
torches. 

‘‘If they had, the house would no doubt have been 
in flames before this,” replied Catalyntie, making a 
tidy roll of her ghost-gown. 

“We may as well leave them here,” she said, tuck- 
ing Virginia’s with her own, under a work-bench; 
“but God grant we may never need them again.” 

They were closing the tool-house door when a rapid 
beat of hoofs arrested them, and up the drive galloped 
a company of soldiers. Whether they were redcoats 
or Americans they were unable to determine, until 
Kichard Carroll’s voice was heard. In his anxiety for 
the safety of the family, he had felt compelled to turn 
back with his men, but had reached the manor gate 
only in time to witness the flight of the enemy. 

“You boys must have given them a hard hit of some 
sort, for they were evidently panic-stricken,” were the 
words the listeners caught, “and your little mistress 
need have no fear of their coming again very soon.” 

“’Twas de young Misses skeered ’em,” chuckled 
Jeems Jubah. But the answer was lost on Richard, 


A New Device 


123 


for he and his comrades had put spurs to their horses and 
the girls sped to the cave with a fresh sense of being 
protected. 

‘‘That was just like Dick/^ said Harold. But he 
set his teeth together on hearing of their new venture. 

“Suppose they had turned on you — what earthly 
chance would you have had to escape he demanded. 

“Oh, it would never have entered our heads — my 
head, I should say, since I was the one to propose it,’’ 
confessed Catalyntie, “if Virginia hadn’t noticed how 
craven-hearted they were about passing the graves. We 
knew by that that it would be easy to hoax them.” 

Madam Vanderbeek had listened to them with a 
troubled face. 

“It is a victory, truly, and I marvel at your cour- 
age,” she said, “but, my dear girls, I thoroughly dis- 
approve of all such tricks. I knew of a child that was 
frightened into spasms by some boys who, just for a 
frolic, dressed up in sheets and masks, and the little 
one never recovered.” 

“Oh, that was dreadful!” said Catalyntie, “one 
ought to be sent to prison for doing a thing like that. 
But, mother, this was altogether different. Something 
had to be done, and I don’t think anyone would blame 
us, not even Domine Rysdyck. It was a terrible under- 
taking for us, but we felt very well repaid when we 
saw those brutal Hessians go into spasms. The only 
fear is that they may rally and come sneaking back.” 

“God forbid!” said Madam Vanderbeek. “But you 
would need no better proof of the folly of such a 
shift.” 


124 


At the Manor 


A few evenings later, as they sat with Hal, waiting 
in the pallid light of a tallow dip, for the night watch 
to come, a stealthy step halted at the entrance and 
someone began groping for the latch. 

‘‘That’s neither Jeems Judah nor the twins,” whis- 
pered Virginia, hastily snuffing out the candle. 

“Keep back!” ordered Hal. And, springing to the 
door, he waited to charge. 

“Oh, now, don’t douse the glim,” protested a merry 
voice; “it’s not an enemy intruding.” 

“Ted!” cried Harold, as the wicket swung open. 

“Ay, and I bring great news. Burgoyne has been 
utterly defeated at Saratoga and his entire army was 
marched off by our men under the ‘Stars and Stripes.’ 
There has been no victory like it since the war began. 
We were both in the thick of the battle — our colonel 
and I — and as soon as the surrender was accomplished 
he dispatched me to report to my captain — ” And he 
gravely saluted Hal. 

It was a full half hour before their enthusiasm per- 
mitted him to have the floor again. 

“It is to be hoped,” he said, “that this will serve 
to check the mad doings of Sir James Wallace. No 
doubt you have already heard — ” He paused as if 
the words were hard to say — “that he has laid Esopus 
in ashes.” 

“Esopus!” exclaimed Hal, “that peaceful little 
hamlet ! Who but fiends incarnate could be capable of 
such a deed!” 

“Esopus!” repeated Virginia, to herself; “that must 
have been the place they said he had sworn to burn. 


A New Device 


125 

If we had only known in time to give warning ! ’ * And 
then her thoughts came back to Theodore. 

‘‘Yes/’ he was saying; “it was the work of those 
in league with Satan. I met Domine Doll in Fishkill 
and he seemed inconsolable — his church destroyed and 
his flock exiled, most of the homeless inhabitants hav- 
ing fled to Hurley. Our General Clinton, on learning 
that the village was threatened, went pOst-haste with 
a goodly force to forestall the incendiaries. But — he 
was too late. He had caught one of their emissaries, 
however.” And the horror-stricken group, when told 
that the village was threatened, went post-haste with 
the fate of the spy with the silver bullet, shuddered at 
the thought of Harold’s narrow escape. 

“Poor fellow!” commiserated Hal; “I suppose he 
was just as much convinced that he was doing his duty 
as our brave martyr, Nathan Hale, and, perhaps, like 
him, he died, regretting that he had but one life to 
give for the cause he had espoused. As for me, very 
likely I’d have fared no better but for these two — ” 

“Little ‘fraid cats’,” interposed Virginia, with 
gentle malice, recalling Hal’s nickname for them when 
they were children. 

“Oh, come now!” he retorted, “don’t be so hard on 
a fellow. How was I to know that you had it in you 
— such famous little cowards as you were in those days 
-^ready to squeak at the sight of a caterpillar.” 

“And really, we shouldn’t be much braver now,” 
Catalyntie confessed, “if it were not a matter of life 
and death. Our hearts are half the time in our mouths. 
Only last evening we were scared nearly out of our 
wits by a bat in the tool-house.” 


126 


At the Manor 


Guess, if you can, what they were doing in that 
funereal place in the dark, Ted,’’ said Harold. 

But Ted’s ability as a guesser was not equal to the 
riddle and Harold had to explain. 

‘‘Surely no ‘’fraid cats’ could have accomplished 
that feat,” said Theodore. “But I don’t like it. It 
was an appalling risk. It chills one to the marrow, to 
think how it might have ended. 

“Indeed it does,” said Hal. “They did it without 
letting either Aunt Evelina or me into their confidence, 
and since ‘all’s well that ends well,’ we can afford to 
laugh over it. But I trust they will never undertake 
anything of the kind again. 

“Never, never,” insisted Ted. “A strain like that 
is enough to make real ghosts of them.” 

Virginia was regarding him with moist eyes. 

“0 Ted; how much we owe you,” she said. 

“What for, pray?” 

“What for, indeed! Do you imagine we can ever 
forget it? Why, I never see you now, Ted, without 
being reminded of father.” 

“That is very sweet and dutiful on your part — I 
couldn’t remind you of a better man — but I am selfish 
enough to want to remind you once in a while of — 
myself, and just now, if you think my life worth 
saving, pray give me a snack of some sort. I’m as 
hungry as a bear.” 

“Why, surely you must be I” cried the girl. • “What 
are we thinking about?” And, Jeems Jubah coming 
in as she spoke, to go on duty for the night, was at 


A New Device 127 

once sent to the house with directions to bring to the 
cave whatever food he could lay hands on. 

‘‘We may as well go, too,” she said to Catalyntie. 
“Food is not all that will be needed.” 

“Oh, don^t bother about anything else,” interposed 
Ted. But the girls had already vanished. 

“How worn-out you look, laddie,” said Madam Van- 
derbeek, tenderly smoothing the brown locks from his 
forehead. 

“Ah, war is wearing work, and this little let-up is a 
foretaste of Heaven. You don’t know how good it 
seems to be mothered again.” And the boy pressed 
the motherly hands to his cheek. “When we reached 
Fishkill, I stopped to see Grandma Schenck, but foimd 
that she had closed the house and gone to stay with 
friends in Newburgh. She is the only mother I have 
ever known, but an own mother couldn’t have been 
kinder and dearer. If ever I have a home of my 
own, she is coming to live with me — dear grandma!” 

“That is,” said Madam Vanderbeek, sagely, “if the 
young wife doesn’t object.” 

“Oh, the girl I hope to win is not that sort. She 
has a heart that is all love and tenderness. We are 
over young yet to think of marrying, but if some day 
my dream shall come to pass, I know, dear Madam 
Vanderbeek, that you will give us a mother’s bless- 
ing.” 

Madam Vanderbeek was startled. 

“It’s my Catalyntie the lad has in mind,” she said 
to herself, half jealously. 


128 


At the Manor 


But Jeems Jubah, crowding through the narrow en- 
trance, nearly submerged in the billows of a feather 
bed, saved her the necessity of answering. Behind him 
came the girls, one with an armful of blankets, the 
other bearing a well-filled trencher. 

‘^Now fall to,’’ commanded Virginia, placing before 
Ted the little candle-stand for a table. 

He had tasted nothing since morning, and it was 
not till he had disposed of the last square of pone that 
he was ready to begin to talk again. 

It was growing late, however, and Madam Vander- 
beek and the girls, eager as they were to listen, took 
pity on him, seeing that he was over-weary, and 
charged him to keep the remainder of the story till 
the next day. 

“But since we are all here,” suggested Madam 
Vanderbeek, it will be pleasant to have prayers to- 
gether.” 

There was always a Bible in the cave, and when 
Harold had read a psalm, Theodore, with confiding 
earnestness gave thanks for good received and besought a 
blessing on themselves and on their country. 

“Prayer always makes one feel so safe and happy,” 
said Virginia, as they crept toward the house, with 
Jeems Jubah stepping warily ahead. 

Madam Vanderbeek made no answer until they were 
all indoors. Then, “Indeed it does,” she said. “How 
could we ever leave our dear boys in that lonesome 
cavern if we did not put them in God’s care? To go 
through life without prayer and thanksgiving is like 


A New Device 


129 


living under a loving father’s roof without ever thank- 
ing him for his kindness or having even the courtesj 
to bid him good-morning and good-night.” 

** That’s just what Ted’s prayer was,” exclaimed 
Virginia, ‘‘a ‘good night’ to God, and it seemed as if 
God whispered back a promise of peace and rest. ’ ’ 

As they went upstairs, she caught Catalyntie round 
the waist. 

“What a joy it is to know that we’ll not have to 
repeat the ghost trick,” she said, “for, of course, if 
Aunt Evelina disapproves of it, that ends it.” 

“Yes, that ends it, but I don’t know what we can 
do next if they make another attack. ’ ’ 

“Perhaps they won’t muster courage to attempt 
it again,” said Virginia, half her burden lifted with 
the remembrance of Theodore’s prayer and Richard’s 
watchfulness for their safety. “At all events, we’ll 
hope so — and kope is a good night-cap.” 


XVIII 


TWO HAPLESS REDCOATS 

As Theodore’s leave of absence had not been limited 
they prevailed on him to stay till the following week, 
and by that time Hal declared himself ready to ac- 
company him. Madam Vanderbeek and the girls were 
too conscientious to try to detain them for even another 
day; but when, in the gloaming, they stole from the 
cave, with only a pale half-moon for a lantern, the 
wicker door shut in three anxious tear-stained faces. 

‘‘It’s not only of Harold and Ted I’m thinking,” 
said Virginia, with a sob, “but of father and Uncle 
Barent, and — and — all the rest of our soldiers. Oh, 
that the war were ended!” 

They had not yet dried their tears when a rush of 
feet was heard, apparently making for the cave, and 
the three clung to each other shaking with terror. 

But the runners made no stop. “Listen! More are 
coming!” said Catalyntie, her ear at the lattice. 
“Why these are Jeems Jubah and the twins, and they 
seem to be chasing the others.” 

“Then the others must be chasing Harold and Ted,” 
gasped Virginia. “But, hark! hark!” For suddenly 
there had come a fierce outcry, followed with a sickening 
thud. 

Catalyntie cautiously opened the wicket. The moon 
was still high in the west, and its rays striking through 


Two Hapless Redcoats 131 

the tree-tops, made patches of silver on the narrow 
path that Harold and Theodore had taken. ‘‘Wait,'^ 
she said, with a hand on Virginia’s shoulder. ‘‘Some- 
thing has happened — the twins are doing a somer- 
sault.” 

That was enough for Virginia. If the twins were 
on their heads the danger must be over, and switching 
away from Catalyntie, she ran to the open space where 
the two youngsters were performing their favorite act, 
and sternly asked them what they meant by their 
antics. 

“O Miss Wygiuny,” they clamored, scrambling to 
their feet; “dem webcoats wot was twyin’ to kotch 
Ma’sa Hawol’ an^ Ma’sa Feedo, hab tumble obeh dat 
dah ledge headfo’mos, plum’ into de pool wah we uns 
does on’ fishin’. Dey was in sich a fumin’ huhwy dat 
dey nebbah seed wah dey was agwine.” 

“Oh, then Harold and Theodore are safe,” she cried, 
joyously, and just then Jeems Jubah joined them, 
panting like a spent hound. 

“’Deed dey is. Miss Wyginny,” he assured her. 
“Dey’s half a mile o’ mo’ away befo’ dis.” 

“But, boys,” remonstrated Virginia, with belated 
pity, “those redcoats will be drowned.” 

“Pwobly dey will,” Jeems Jubah granted, with no 
pretense of compunction. 

“Jeems Jubah,” she said, “go this instant and bring 
Pepper from his kennel, and Cicero and Cato, you 
march on ahead of us to the pool. ’ ’ 

“O, my dear, think what a risk you are taking,” 
warned Madam Vanderbeek. 


132 


At the Manor 


‘‘But, Aunt Evelina, friend or foe, we have no right 
to let them perish if it is possible to rescue them/^ 

“I know it, child, I know it; but what is to become 
of us, if we find them unharmed?^' 

“Oh, even in that case the boys and Pepper will be 
able to manage them, no doubt, Virginia declared, 
determined to do her duty at any hazard. But at 
heart, she was cowering, and Pepper’s frantic yelps 
as he bounded down the hillside, did not tend to re- 
assure her. 

“He’m got on de scent,” shouted the twins, dashing 
after the dog. 

The precipice over which, in their reckless chase, 
the redcoats had plunged to the depths below, was a 
wall of solid stone, rising rough and sheer from the 
pond at its base, but a winding path afforded those 
familiar with it, a safe descent, and while Jeems Jubah 
and the twins pressed forward, keen now for the 
quarry. Madam Vanderbeek and the girls trod resolute- 
ly in their wake. 

“Dah ain’t no sign ob ’em wisible,” Jeems Jubah 
announced decisively. 

“Hi!” shouted Cicero; “I sees one ob ’em now, 
wite obeh dah.” 

“I sees ’em, too,” echoed Cato. 

And the rest, straining their eyes through the gloom, 
discerned a man clinging to a jagged rock that pro- 
jected from the center of the little sheet of water. 

“See, Pepper, see!” charged Virginia, who with her 
hand on the dog’s collar, had been holding him back. 
Go, bring him to us.” 


Two Hapless Redcoats 133 

Pepper understood in a flash, and with a knowing 
bark, leaped into the pool. 

‘‘Call hm off, call hm off,^’ entreated the redcoat, 
with a futile effort to give Pepper a kick. 

“He isn^ gwine to hu’t yo,’^ called Jeems Jubah. 
“Jus’ yo’ let ’im git a good holt o’ yo’ clo’es an’ he’ll 
Ian’ yo’ safe an’ soun’. Ef yo’ doesn’ do dat, we uns’ll 
hab to lebe yo’ to dwond.” 

The man, exhausted as he was, had sense enough 
left to see that this was his only chance, and Pepper, 
after a hard tug, succeeded in bringing him to the 
edge of the pond. 

“Now, den,” Jeems Jubah assured him, as he pulled 
him up the bank, “we uns isn’ gwine to do yo’ no 
vi’lence, but seein’ yo’se putty libely yet, we’s got to 
make shuo’ yo’.” And producing a piece of rope, he 
proceeded to bind him hand and foot, having first dis- 
armed him. Scarcely was this task accomplished, 
when a groan from a nearby clump of bushes caught 
their ear. 

At that, with Madam Vanderbeek and the girls, the 
first impulse was to beat a retreat, but a cry of dis- 
may from the boys, all three of whom had rushed into 
the thicket, stayed their flight. 

“Look mighty like deaf hab done took dis un 
pwisoneh,” said Jeems Jubah, grimly, as he and the 
twins emerged from the bushes, carrying what seemed 
to be a lifeless body. 

Catal5uitie hesitatingly drew nearer and laid her fin- 
ger on the brawny wrist. 

“His pulse still beats,” she said, “and he ought to 


134 


At the Manor 


be taken as quickly as possible to some place where 
he can be cared for/’ 

‘‘Perhaps the wood-house loft might answer for both,” 
suggested Virginia, “if the boys can contrive to get them 
there. That’s the best we can do for tonight.” 

“I doubt the wisdom of having them lodged so near 
us, my dear,” Madam Vanderbeek objected, her forti- 
tude giving way again. “There’s no telling what 
they’ll be up to.” 

“They are apparently past being up to anything for 
the present. Aunt Evelina, and the sooner they are 
under shelter the better, don’t you think so?” asked 
the girl, with gentle deference, though fully convinced 
that the responsibility of caring for the men was not 
to be shirked. 

“Oh, I suppose so, but — ” 

“Yo’ uns bes’ go befo’, Miss Wyginny,” advised 
Jeems Jubah, “den yo’ wo’n hab to be seein’ ’em all de 
wile.” 

And Madam Vanderbeek, overhearing this thought- 
ful suggestion, fell in line with the girls without fur- 
ther protest. 

At a respectful distance followed Jeems Jubah, tim- 
ing his steps to those of his hobbled captive, while the 
twins, carrying the other redcoat, brought up the rear. 

Fortunately the wood-house loft was already fitted 
up as a bedroom, having often been used for that pur- 
pose, when over-abundant crops called for additional 
harvesters, and fresh linen was all that was needed 
in preparing it for the new occupants. 

The moon was nearing the horizon when the pro- 


Two Hapless Redcoats 


135, 


cession reached the hilltop, hut there was still light 
enough to define the way, and Virginia hurried on 
breathlessly to give directions to Mammy Ann and Sis 
Sue. 

‘‘Some hot broth, first of all. Mammy Ann,’’ she 
said, briefly explaining that it was for two soldiers 
that had met with an accident. Then she flew to Sis 
Sue’s help, and by the time the beds were ready, Jeems 
Jubah and the twins were climbing the stairs with the 
prisoners. 

“Land 0’ lub’, dem ain ’t no sojehs — dem’s nuffin’ but 
webcoats,” declared Sis Sue, in high disdain. “Fink 
I’d done took all dat pains fixin’ dem cots if I’d knowd 
who ’twas fo’? I done say not.” 

Then Virginia Theodosia had to do a little chiding, 
and Sis Sue listened meekly — as was her wont when 
her “Miss Wyginny” saw fit to take her to task — 
and when the broth was brought, she did penance by 
offering to feed the men. 

But the one that Pepper had rescued from drowning 
was the only one that craved food. The other, though 
still breathing, gave no sign of returning conscious- 
ness. 

“Seem like dat un am done fo’,” said Jeems Jubah, 
“less he’m playin’ ’possum.” 

“He is not playing possum,” said Catalytie, lifting 
the mass of matted hair from the man’s forehead. “He 
must have landed headforemost on that rock behind 
the bushes where we found him. Look at this fright- 
ful gash. Whether he will revive or not remains to 
be seen.” 


At the Manor 


136 

Meanwhile, Harold and Theodore, with no suspicion 
that they were being pursued, had pushed ahead in 
the darkness, and before morning, were safe in their 
barracks. 


XIX 


JEEMS JUBAH^S TREATY 

That night the twins, well armed, kept watch in 
the wood-house, and in the morning Jeems Juhah took 
their place. 

^‘Wot yo’ fink I^s scubhahedT^ he asked, when a 
little later Virginia and Catalyntie came to the loft 
to inquire about the patients. ‘‘Dey ain’t Bwitishers, 
dem fellahs, dey libs jus’ quas de wibah, an’ dey’s two 
misable towies.” 

‘‘Oh, oh; what a pity to have to harbor them!” de- 
plored Virginia. “One can forgive the English for 
fighting for their king, but a tory is nothing more nor 
less than a traitor.” 

“Not in every case, perhaps,” said Catalyntie. “We 
mustn’t be uncharitable, for there are not a few who 
still believe that the colonies belong to England and 
that she has the right to keep on governing them. But 
on the other hand, it is to be feared that some are 
tories simply to be on the winning side, they are so 
fully persuaded that we are going to be defeated.” 

“Defeated! Never!” returned Virginia, hotly. “Not 
if father and old Jonas are trustworthy prophets — and 
when the day of victory comes, the tories will be found 
sitting in sack-cloth and ashes.” 

In the afternoon they made another visit to the wood- 
137 


At the Manor 


138 

house and, Madam Vanderbeek being with them, they 
ventured to go to the loft and speak' to the convales- 
cent. He seemed in a receptive frame of mind and Vir- 
ginia felt in duty bound to express her views on 
toryism. Then Madam Vanderbeek took it up, and 
between them, the poor man was left without an inch 
of ground to stand on. 

“If I had to do it over again, I'd stick to the col- 
onies," he said, humbly. “But I'm afraid it's too late 
now to change, seein’ I ain't likely ever 'to be good for 
much on either side, stove up as I be." 

He was fast rallying, however, and by the third day 
the household began to realize that they had an ele- 
phant on their hands. His comrade had evidently- but 
a short lease of life, having only roused sufficiently 
once or twice to take a spoonful of broth, and they in- 
tended to care for him till he drew his last breath. What 
to do with the other one was the problem. 

Finally, a family council was called. But before it 
could be decided whether to let the man go his way 
or to keep him until an opportunity came to turn him 
over to the colonial authorities. Pepper’s belligerent 
barking broke up the conclave. 

“Wkat is the trouble with him, James?" asked 
Madam Vanderbeek, hurrying to the window. 

“I doesn' pwezackly know, mum," replied Jeems 
Jubah, who, present by request, had been listening to 
the discussion with the dignity of a judge; “but he 
hawk like he done scent a webcoat," and, snatching 
a rifle from the hooks, he was down the steps in a trice. 

“There's a man on the horse-block," said Catalyntie 


139 


Jeems Jubah’s Treaty 

— who, with Virginia, had run to the other window, 
‘‘and another seems to be creeping up the walk.’’ 

“Oh, they are trying to shoot Pepper,” cried Vir- 
ginia, flying to the door. 

But by that time Jeems Jubah was confronting them 
and at the same minute the twins rushed pell-mell 
across the lawn, each with a gun. 

“Don’ yo’ uns dah to move one foot fo’ de uddeh, 
’less yo’ wants to be shot down in yo’ twacks,” com- 
manded Jeems Jubah. Here was a chance to arrange 
a truce and Jeems Jubah was shrewd •enough to make 
the most of it. 

“Yo’ uns keep yo’ eyes on ’em w’ile I go ’vise de 
Missus,” he said to the twins, who, screened behind an 
oak, with Pepper crouching at their feet, ready to 
pounce on the enemy at the faintest hint, had already 
taken aim. 

Half way to the house he met Sis Sue carrying a 
lockless fowling piece. Over her short gown and petti- 
coat she wore an old blue cloak that had once belonged 
to the colonel, while one of Jeems Jubah’s straw hats, 
with battered crown and ragged rim, covered her crisp 
curls. 

“Sh-sh!” she enjoined. “Don’ say nuffin’ an’ dey 
wo’n know de dif-ence.” 

“Good fo’ yo’, honey,” he answered, scudding on 
without further waste of sentiment. 

Madam Vanderbeek and the girls, unable to compre- 
hend the proceedings on the lawn, were waiting for 
him inside the door perplexed and anxious. 

“Dey’s got a big boat an’ dey ’d take bof men off 


140 


At the Manor 


yo^ hands,” he urged. lettin^ W off kind o’ 

easy, but it’m gwine to sabe yo’ uns a heap o’ boveh.” 

^‘Oh, by all means, James,” said Madam Vander- 
beek. they’ll take them, we shall be only too glad 
to let them go.” 

As neither of the upper windows in the wood-house 
faced the river the prisoner knew nothing of what was 
going on below, but Pepper’s barks had made him 
aware of an arrival of some sort, and when up the 
stairs came the tramp of feet, he retreated to the far end 
of the loft and braced himself with a foreboding of 
merited doom. His companion slept on undisturbed, 
and for the moment, he would willingly have changed 
places with him, so great was his dread of being turned 
over to those against whom he had taken up arms. 
Jeems Jubah’s hilarious voice, however, reassured him 
— Jeems Jubah, in his sense of relief at the prospect of 
being rid of these objectionable guests, would have been 
glad to sing a hallelujah could he have spared the 
time. 

In naming the terms for the surrender of the pris- 
oners, he had begun by mildly requesting the new- 
comers to lay down whatever weapons they carried, 
and with four guns pointed at their heads and Pepper 
menacing their legs, they made no demur. In fact, 
his dramtic description of the rescue of the tories and 
the care bestowed on them by the family had so im- 
pressed them that they demurred at nothing that he 
asked. But when they reached the wood-house stairs 
they became suspicious of a trap and would have re- 
treated had they dared. 


Jeems Jubah’s Treaty 


141 


Tins follah me. Nobody gwine to tetcb yo’/^ 
said the truce-maker, and the men sullenly obeyed. 

It was a grotesque company that a little later 
emerged from the wood-shed. Leading the way with 
the helpless tory borne like a dead man between them, 
went the two disarmed redcoats, while near them 
stalked the other prisoner. Then came Jeems Jubah, 
and the twins loaded, with a supply of bedding, for 
the weather was cool and the little mistress of the 
manor had directed them to make the injured ones as 
comfortable as possible. There was a probability of 
their being hungry, too, so Sis Sue followed with a 
generous basket of food. 

‘‘Dah,’' she remarked, as the men pushed from the 
dock, ‘‘we uns hab ’beyed de Bible; ‘ef dine enemy 
hungah, feed ^im, ef he fwist gib hm dwink,’ but, de 
Lawd willin’, I hopes well nebah hab to do it agin 
— ^not in dat way, nohow.” 

“Dat so. Sis Sue,” said Jeems Jubah. And, elated 
over the success of his negotiations with the redcoats, 
he ventured to take her hand. “We uns wouldn’ be 
choosin’ no sech way ez dat, but wen de Lawd bwings 
de enemy face to face wid yo’, so to spoke, an’ yo’ 
sees dat ef yo’ don’ feed ’im an’ gib ’im dwink he’m 
gwine to die on yo’ hands, deh ain’t no backin’ out. 
An’ if He’m wantin’ folks to be dat good to deh 
enemies, ’cose He’d want ’em to be good to deh 
fwiends. Ain’t dat so, honey?” 

“Now gTong, Jeems Jubah. I knows w’at yo’s 
done dwivin’ at, an’ I isn’ gwine to gib yo’ no ’cou- 
wagement till I sees how de wah am kimin’ out. Dis 


142 


At the Manor 


ain^t no time to be finkin’ o’ weddins wiv no un but 
we uns to tect de fambly.” 

‘^Hi!” he ejaculated, ignoring this rebuff, ‘^dah’s lil’ 
Miss an’ tuddeh uns lookin’ fo’ we uns.” And drop- 
ping the hand that Sis Sue had for once condescended 
to leave in his, he bolted for the veranda. 

“You are sure they will not be coming back, 
James?” asked Madam Vanderbeek, who, with Vir- 
ginia and Catalyntie, had been absorbed in watching 
the exodus. 

“ ’Deed yes’m,” answered Jeems Jubah, with a grin 
that brought two semi-circles of gleaming ivory into 
view, “not dat lot. Dey knows ’t wouldn’ be healfy 
fo’ ’em ’wound heah.” 


XX 


ROUTED AGAIN 

Presently the country had fresh cause for rejoicing, 
for as a result of the capture of Burgoyne^s army, 
across the sea, as promptly as the slow- winged ships of 
the day could make the voyage, came the word that 
the King of France had acknowledged the independ- 
ence of America and given his promise to Benjamin 
Franklin, the American Minister at Paris, to send men 
and money to help establish it. It was young Lafay- 
ette that first received this information and he com- 
municated it to the commander in chief, with eyes brim- 
ming with tears, so loyal and devoted was he to the 
cause he had espoused. 

But the British continued to hold the right of way 
on the Hudson, and a full recital of the trials that fell 
to the family at Oak Glade — trials that were dupli- 
cated in every patriot's home the length of the river 
— would make a long and harrowing story. Still, 
though all kinds of food were at a premium — for the 
enemy, with the greed of an army of locusts, devoured 
everything that came in its way — and of flax and wool 
there was such scarcity that the sound of spinning- 
wheels and looms went low in the land. Oak Glade fared 
better than many of its neighbors. The river and brooks 
furnished an abundance of fish, and, in spite of the 


144 


At the Manor 


redcoats^ frequent raids on the outlying fields, the boys 
succeeded in raising in those nearer the house enough 
corn and potatoes to prevent a famine, and now and 
then in the spring time, when the snow was melting in 
the woods, they managed to tap the maple trees. But 
the sugar-making was no longer a wild-wood frolic in 
which all the household joined, for in the fear of hav- 
ing the sap appropriated by the enemy, every pailful 
was carried to the kitchen to be boiled. Day after 
day when the trees gave freely, the great iron kettle 
on the crane in the fireplace, was filled and refilled — 
but the golden cakes when turned from the molds were 
unselfishly hoarded, to be used only in sickness or for 
the regalement of guests that were fighting for the 
colonies. 

Since the freeing of the rescued redcoats, no more 
attempts had been made to burn the manor, and this 
long respite was attributed to the ‘‘coals of fire^’ that 
had been so generously showered on the enemy. 

“Guess deyVe done guv it up fo’ good,^^ said 
Jeems Jubah. And on the strength of this conclusion 
he and the twins ventured one afternoon to go to the 
woods for a load of hickory logs. 

They had not yet returned, though it was fast 
growing dark, when two American officers drew rein 
at the porch and presented a letter of introduction 
from the commander in chief — a letter speaking of them 
simply as his friends without giving their names. They 
came unattended, and while Madam Vanderbeek and 
the girls were welcoming them, Sis Sue led their horses 
to the stable. 


Routed Again 


H5 


‘‘Time dem boys was totin’ home dat fule. Mos’ 
dawk an’ dey’d ought to be heah tendin’ to fings,” 
she grumbled, feeling that the task was out of her 
province. 

As she was fastening the stable door she spied some 
redcoats at the wharf, and, her ill-humor changing to 
fright, she fled to the house and gave the alarm. 

The strangers started up, each with a hand on his 
sword-hilt. 

“We’re in a bad box, I’m afraid,” said the younger 
one. “There seems no way of escape.” 

“Indeed there is,” Madam Vanderbeek informed 
them; “only be quick.” 

“If you will follow us, gentlemen,” cried Virginia, 
“we can give you a secure refuge.” 

“And who is to protect you?” they asked. 

“Oh, they will not harm us,” said Catalyntie. “It 
is you, no doubt, they are after.” 

But they insisted on remaining where they were, at 
least until they could learn the enemy’s errand. 

“It would ill-become us to seek safety for ourselves 
and leave you at their mercy,” they declared. 

The redcoats now were at the side porch, roughly 
demanding admittance. But Mammy Ann, armed with 
a rolling-pin, was leisurely parleying with them from the 
window, and finding at last that she was not to be 
bullied into letting them in, they started for the front 
of the house, swearing that they would break down 
the doors if they could gain entrance no other way. 

But their bravado was short-lived, for as they turned 
the corner and came in sight of the burying- ground, a 


At the Manor 


146 

gigantic white figure shot up from the shadow of the 
hedge. Its abrupt presentment of itself, together with 
its enormous size, knocked the heart out of the pluck- 
iest of them, and with no heed to the order of their 
going, they made a dash past the woodhouse. 

The girls, peering from a window that overlooked 
the graveyard, were scarcely less dismayed than the 
men, but before they could give a second thought to 
the apparition a confusion of curses, groans and 
splashes reached them. 

‘‘Mercy, Catalyntie, they are in the cistern, every 
one of them!” exclaimed Virginia, throwing open the 
window. “Oh, and there come the boys and Pepper, 
thank God!” 

At the same instant the two officers, both of whom 
had been guarding the front door, ready to charge if 
the men attempted to execute their threat, rushed to 
the porch, inferring from the clamor that an affray of 
some sort had begun outside. 

“What does it mean, lassies?” they asked, be- 
wildered by the sudden disappearance of the redcoats. 

“It means that the enemy is ours, gentlemen,” cried 
Virginia, exultantly. “Near the comer of the wood- 
house is a cistern with the cover on a level with the 
ground, and, trying to cut across it in their wild fiight 
in they went, all four of them. The water is hardly deep 
enough to drown them, but they can’t get out without 
help — so there they are at your disposal.” 

“Well, well,” chuckled the younger officer; “this is 
a fine turning of the tables.” 

“Ay,” said the other, “they couldn’t have been 


Routed Again 
^ 


147 


more securely trapped. And now we must decide what 
to do with them.*’ 

As he spoke, a clatter of hoofs was heard and a com- 
pany of soldiers, with Harold in command, came up 
the drive. They were on their way to West Point, 
where General Washington chanced to be at the time, 
and the floundering redcoats were at once pulled from 
the cistern and delivered to the young captain. 

The girls were with Madam Vanderbeek on the 
veranda, and in the dusk they did not recognize 
Harold, until he and Theodore ran up the steps. 

But a quick parting followed the eager greeting, for 
he was impatient to report to the commander in chief, 
and Virginia’s handkerchief went to her eyes. 

A moment later the two officers stopped at the 
veranda for a farewell word, having decided to go on 
with the others, and they were not blind to the signs 
of tears. 

“Come, come, little girl, cheer up!” said one of 
them, with bluff kindliness. “The war is not going to 
last forever. We are on the road to victory, and soon, 
God willing, brothers and sweethearts will be coming 
home for good.” 

Virginia drew up her head. Sweethearts, indeed! 
Who was thinking of sweethearts? Theodore was no 
sweetheart. And she turned away without curtsying 
and walked primly into the house. But the officer put 
spurs to his horse with a satisfied smile — ^he had at least 
driven the tears from the sweet young face. 

In the swift succession of events the girls had found 
neither time nor opportunity to speak of the specter 


At the Manor 


148 

that had so mysteriously come and gone, but scarcely 
were the soldiers out of sight, when they began to 
canvass it. 

Where do you suppose it came from, Catalyntie?’^ 
asked Virginia, with a hint of awe in her voice. 

“That^s past my comprehension,’^ said her cousin, 
‘‘whence it came or whither it went.” 

“Seems to me I never saw anything human loom up 
so large,” Virginia commented, shuddering at the 
recollection. “Did you notice the size of it?” 

“Yes, and I noticed, too, that it wore boots.” 

Virginia laughed. “Well, whatever or whoever it 
was, it did us a good turn,” she said. “But I don’t 
like mysteries.” 

Just then Madam Vanderbeek entered the room with 
her knitting work, and as she seated herself, Virginia 
slipped a hassock under her feet. 

“Aunt Evelina, you don’t believe in ghosts?” pre- 
faced the girl, soberly. 

“Certainly not. That is a needless question, my 
dear. I believe in spirits — ministering spirits that the 
Heavenly Father commissions to care for those that 
love Him — but as for ghosts, the souls that have gone 
to Paradise must be far too happy and content to want 
to come back to earth, at least in that disguise. If 
they came at all, it would be to comfort and help 
people — not to go wandering about in their musty 
grave-clothes, frightening the wits out of every one 
they met — ^while as for the wicked, though no doubt 
they might be glad to return, God surely would never 
give them that sort of a furlough.” 


149 


Routed Again 

‘‘Well, Aunt Evelina,^’ and Virginians eyes grew 
merry, “there was another ghost in the graveyard to- 
night, and the scare it gave the redcoats was what 
soused them into the cistern.’' 

“My dear girls,” said Madam Yanderbeek, drop- 
ping her knitting, and looking from one to the other 
with a grieved face, “it is not possible that you have 
been trying that sacrilegious trick a second time.” 

“Now, mother!” protested Catalyntie, “as if we 
could, after knowing how you felt about it ! The truth 
is, we were nearly as badly scared as the redcoats, it 
was such a hideous object.” 

“Why, it was enough to scare anybody,” said Vir- 
ginia. “With its great flopping arms, it looked like 
the ghost of a windmill. The shouts of the men when 
they plunged into the cistern took our attention from 
it at the minute, and before we could turn our heads 
again, it was gone. But Catalyntie declares that it 
wore — boots.” 

Madam Vanderbeek’s features relaxed into a smile. 
“That, in itself,” she said, “shows the absurdity of 
taking it for a ghost.” 

“Well, ghost or no ghost, it was of an unearthly 
build,” Virginia declared, “we both can testify to 
that.” 

The next morning, on inspecting the graveyard, they 
found in the soft soil the impress of a mammoth foot, 
and, tracing it to the tool-house, they discovered that 
the door was unfastened, while within, on the work- 
bench, lay two crumpled mud-stained sheets — those in 
which they themselves had once been gowned, and which. 


150 


At the Manor 


after Madam Yanderbeek’s veto, they had forgotten to 
take away. 

‘^It is as much a mystery as ever,” lamented Vir- 
ginia, ^‘and a very grewsome one. I wonder if the 
officers saw it.” 

“Probably not, it came and went so like a flash, 
and afterward there was no time to tell them about 
it,” said Catalyntie. 


XXI 


THE TAKING OP THE PORT 

Not for many a day did any of ‘‘the boys in blue’* 
find their way again to Oak Glade, and meanwhile, 
rumors of the cruel sufferings of the army tortured the 
hearts of those at home. 

“It is sad enough to know that our soldiers are daily 
risking their lives on the battle-field, but to have them 
dying in camp for lack of food and clothing — oh, it is 
terrible!*’ said Virginia. 

“And to think,” lamented Madam Vanderbeek, “of 
the stores of sheets and blankets we were forced to 
leave behind us, all falling to the comfort of the enemy, 
when our own are in such need of them!” 

But they did what they could — as thousands of other 
brave women throughout the colonies were doing. 
They scraped lint and molded bullets, and the little 
mistress of the manor, with the aid of her ready al- 
lies converted more than one of her downy beds into 
pillows for the sick and wounded. 

Happily, Mrs. Jason, who was an industrious spin- 
ner when wool was abundant, had an ample supply of 
yarn in reserve, and Madam Vanderbeek and the girls, 
— leaving samplers and embroidery frames untouched 
— devoted themselves to knitting it into socks for the 
soldiers. From breakfast till bed-time the needles were 


* 


152 


At the Manor 


kept busy, — and none but the dear Lord knew how 
many tender thoughts and prayers were inwrought 
with the stitches, and He alone counted the tears that 
moistened them. 

One summer afternoon as they sat knitting on the 
veranda — ^not talking over much, but doing a deal of 
thinking — around the side of the house came swift 
feet with a military tread. Then Virginia heard some- 
one speak her name, and the next minute she was in 
her father's arms. 

‘‘Dey's two mo' cornin', and yo' uns better git 'em 
indo's, Miss Wyginny," urged Jeems Jubah, following 
hard after the colonel. ‘‘Mought some o' dem web- 
coats happen along." 

‘‘Ah, if they come now we know where to find cov- 
ert," said a voice that had a familiar sound, and, lift- 
ing her head from the snuggery of her father's should- 
er, she discovered that his companions were the two 
officers that had refused to take refuge in the cave with 
the redcoats at the door. 

“What's this I hear about Oak Glade's ghosts?" 
asked Colonel Sprague, while they were at supper, 
with Jeems Jubah and the twins on guard outside. 

“Something that the less said about it, the better," 
answered Madam Vanderbeek, in an undertone. 

“Then we'll let it rest," he said. 

Virginia, however, divined by the set of his lips that 
he knew of the rash exploit and that he thoroughly 
disapproved of it — and that hurt her to the quick. 
“But we were not the only ones," she protested, plung- 
ing into the story of the later apparition. 


The Taking of the Fort 


153 


The colonel was puzzled. He had heard of the timely 
collapse of the cistern cover, but not of the specter’s 
share in it. 

Don’t you think it might have been Jeems Jubah?” 
he suggested. 

‘^Oh, no, indeed, father! Jeems Jubah on stilts 
would have been a pigmy in comparison. And, besides, 
he and the twins didn’t get back from the woods till 
the men were tumbling in.” 

The guests, too, were puzzled, for, as in the colonel's 
case, it was their first intimation that there had been 
anything of a ghostly character connected with the 
trapping of the enemy. 

‘‘At any rate, it proved a friend in our extremity,” 
said the elder of the two, “and we’ll pray it may be 
a long day before it goes underground.” 

Then they gave their attention anew to their plates, 
for it was a rare treat to sit at a home table and the 
meal, plain as it was, seemed to them, in comparison with 
their camp fare, a banquet fit for a king. 

But Virginia could do nothing but feast her eyes 
on her father’s face. How good it was to see him 
again and know that he was still unharmed. Yet, in 
the midst of her rejoicing, she found herself shivering 
at the possibility that some of the redcoats in the 
neighborhood, getting an inkling of the arrival of the 
officers, might overpower the boys and push their way 
in before the cave could be reached. 

“Don’t be troubled, little one,” he said, guessing 
her fear. “It would require a much larger force than 
any that has yet landed at the manor to capture us. 


154 


At the Manor 


In the woods yonder a hundred of our men are sta- 
tioned, and, should any danger threaten us, a single 
blast of the horn would bring them to our rescue. Gen- 
eral Washington is planning a surprise, and if all goes 
well, you will hear some good news soon — ^news that 
will carry joy to our friends in Connecticut. And now 
we must be off. God keep you, darling.” 

The others were already taking leave, and with an- 
other embrace he was gone. 

The girls were stiU in the dark in regard to the 
officers’ names, and when they again began to wonder 
who they were. Madam Vanderbeek, in an impressive 
whisper, confided to them that one was — ^Anthony 
Wayne, and the other — ^Benedict Arnold. 

“Aunt Evelina! Why, Anthony Wayne is one of 
our bravest generals, and Benedict Arnold is com- 
mander at West Point,” said Virginia. “To think that 
we never dreamed what guests we were entertaining ! ’ ’ 

Two days later, before it was fairly light, the girls 
were wakened by a volley of shouts from Jeems Jubah 
and the twins. 

“Miss Wyginny ! Miss Wyginny ! we’s done took de 
foht,” vociferated the spokesman. 

“ ’Deed we has,” chorused the twins. 

“What is it you are trying to tell us, boys?” called 
Virginia, leaning eagerly from the window. 

“Why, we’s took de foht. Miss Wyginny,” Jeema 
Jubah reiterated. 

“Yez’m, an’ ’twas ’long de middle ob de night,” 
clamored the twins. “An’ dah wasn’ no guns shot, 
an’ ’twas dat Gen’al Antny Way wot done it.” 


The Taking of the Fort 155 

‘‘Now, you youngsters, be still a minute, please, and 
let Jeems Jubab tell us about it,^’ s>aid the girl. 

And, at last, when the jumble of words had been 
reduced to order, they learned that a courier, stopping 
at Mammy Ann’s cabin for a drink of water, had 
brought the word that Stony Point had been wrested 
from the British at midnight, without the firing of a 
gun. 

“Aunt Evelina! Aunt Evelina!” cried Virginia, run- 
ning to her aunt’s room. “Our men have captured 
Stony Point ! This must be the good news father told 
us we might expect.” 

“And good news it is indeed,” exclaimed Madam 
Vanderbeek, starting up in her lace-frilled night cap 
and dimity gown, “for the taking of Stony Point gives 
us King’s Ferry again and frees Connecticut from the 
fear of an invasion.” 

Later in the day David Newling, on his way to the 
village, with his arm in a sling, brought fuller particu- 
lars of “Mad Anthony’s” daring exploit. 

“Our men,” he said, “made a fine showing when 
the general, to inspect them, ordered them on parade. 
There were over thirteen hundred of them, all shaved 
and powdered as carefully as if for a ball, yet fully 
equipped for battle, though the general had not yet 
given them a hint of his plans, fearing the enemy might 
get wind of them. Scouts had been sent in all direc- 
tions with orders to hold up every human being they 
met, and to kill all the dogs within a radius of three 
miles.” 

“Oh, I’m thankful Pepper didn’t come under that 


At the Manor 


156 

edict, broke in Virginia. ‘^But it was a wise pre- 
caution. And how splendid that the victory was gained 
with no bloodshed.’’ 

David shook his head. ‘^It was a glorious victory — 
there is no denying that — but it was not won so easily 
as was at first supposed. There was heavy firing on 
boith sides and over sixty of the enemy lie dead. ’ ’ 

‘‘And did none of our men fall?” asked Madam 
Vanderbeek in an unsteady voice, while Virginia 
pressed her hands together and waited for his answer 
with dilated eyes. 

“Not more than fifteen, all told. General Wayne is 
the only officer reported wounded, and he not seri- 
ously.” 

“But you, David,” quavered Catalyntie. “Why is 
your arm again in a sling ? ’ ’ 

“Oh, a bullet chanced to graze it — that’s all — but 
the surgeons thought I’d be better off out of camp 
until it was healed.” 

“He was right, but you must have something to eat 
before you go any further,” said Virginia, hurrying to 
the kitchen. 

Catalyntie sat still. Virginia did not need her, and 
the time was so short. 

“Is Betty at home?” she asked hesitatingly. 

“No, both mother and Betty are with friends iu 
Newburgh, so I am to be at Aunt Brinckerhoff ’s again.” 

Catalyntie ’s face fell a bit. 

“That will be pleasant for Katharine, — having you 
there,” she said, with an eye kitchenward. 

“Poor Katharine! It will at bast give her some 


The Taking of the Fort 


157 


one to think about besides Bob/’ answered David. 
‘^They’ve had no word from him since the battle of 
Bunker Hill, and it is almost breaking their hearts. 
There’s many a martyr in time of war besides those 
that perish on the battle-field, and Katharine is one of 
them.” 

Then the door opened and Virginia, summoning 
him to the table, set before him a bountiful supply of 
milk and corn pone. 

“While I am disposing of this, couldn’t you write 
a little line to Katharine?” he asked Catalyntie. “I’m 
sure it would cheer her, and I shan’t find it in the least 
burdensome to be the bearer of it.” 

It was not what Catalyntie would have preferred 
doing just then, but she went at once to the library. 
When she returned he had finished his luncheon and 
was ready to go. 

“Ah, I know that will comfort her,” he said. And 
Catalyntie, noting the lingering touch with which he 
placed the letter in his wallet, was conscious of a 
twinge of envy toward Katharine. 


XXII 


THE TRAITOR 

Though the victory achieved that July night by 
‘‘Mad Anthony’^ and his men gave new courage to 
the colonies, and the year that followed brought many 
cheering results, the final triumph seemed still a long 
way off. 

But the blow that carried consternation to all true 
hearts came not from the enemy but from one within 
the camp. 

The dreary tidings had not yet reached the manor 
when Doctor Vanderbeek and Harold, on their way 
to headquarters, halted for a night ^s rest for them- 
selves and their horses. 

“What has happened, Barents’ inquired Madam 
Vanderbeek, startled by the strained look on their faces. 

The doctor’s head went down into his hands. 

“Alack, it is something past belief,” he said, broken- 
ly, “something so infamous that it curdles one’s blood 
with shame and horror. Benedict Arnold — ^Washing- 
ton’s trusted friend — ^has turned — traitor.’^ 

“Benedict Arnold a traitor!” repeated Madam Yan- 
derbeek. “Barent! No wonder you say it is past 
belief.” 

“Ay, it is like having the solid earth give way be- 
neath you, when a man like that proves false.” 


The Traitor 


159 


And Virginia and Catalyntie, listening in dismay 
to the shameful story, were no longer proud of the 
fact that General Arnold had twice been a guest at 
the manor. 

‘‘Our friends the Kents in Fishkill had a terrible ex- 
perience a few days ago,’^ said Harold. “They were all 
at supper when suddenly a party of redcoats surrounded 
the house and succeeded in capturing Mr. Kent. We 
heard of it through Theodore. He said little John and 
his brother William had taken refuge under the table 
and when Johnny started to creep out his brother pulled 
him back, telling him to look at the windows. And, be- 
hold! at every window stood a redcoat with a rifle 
pointed at them. So there they had to stay till the 
enemy saw fit to go. What Mr. Kent’s fate will be no 
one can foretell.” 

“God pity those that love him,” sighed Madam 
Vanderbeek, the horror of Benedict Arnold’s treachery 
still uppermost. 

After that came the winter at Morristown — a winter 
more terrible than even that at Valley Forge — and the 
accounts of the straits to which Washington and his 
troops were reduced shrouded the country in fresh 
gloom. But with the approach of spring the fog began 
to lift once more. 

“At last we can see light ahead,” said Doctor Van- 
derbeek, who again, with Harold, was taking a flying 
furlough. And then he told his errand. General 
Greene had recently been given control of the army 
at the south, and as both Colonel Sprague and the doc- 


i6o 


At the Manor 


tor belonged to his command, they were likely any day 
to receive their marching orders. 

Harold had brought a little bunch of anemones, 
gathered by the way, and Virginia gave a quick cry 
of delight as she took them from him, but at her uncle’s 
communication she let them slip from her hand, all 
her thoughts veering to her father. 

wish Ted and I were going with them,” said 
Hal, stooping to gather up the anemones from the 
sanded floor, “for there’s a prospect of some lively 
work down there soon, but we’re booked to remain 
at the north.” 

Madam Yanderbeek had sunk back in her chair 
with a white face. 

“Come, come, mother, don’t take it so to heart,” 
said Barent. “All the indications are that matters are 
approaching a climax. The war has practically become 
a game of hide-and-go-seek, and England is tiring of it. 
Just now the south is the center of activities, and if 
General Greene succeeds in carrying through the cam- 
paign that Washington has mapped out for him we 
shall soon see the British beating a retreat. So brace 
up, dear. Brighter days are coming.” 

But Madam Yanderbeek was too thoroughly un- 
nerved at the prospect of the long separation in store 
for them to look beyond it. The girls, too, were taking 
it to heart, and Hal undertook to divert them. 

“Dick was telling us not long ago of a friend of his 
that’s an artist. He came from France with General 
Lafayette and is keeping a careful record of all the 
important events of the war, many of which he illus- 


The Traitor l6i 

trates witli pencil sketches. Think what a boon that 
will be some day to our historians.’^ 

Madam Vanderbeek at once became interested. She 
had a weakness for diaries. 

'‘Oh, it will be priceless,” she said. "It’s a great 
pity that there are not more such records kept.” 

Virginia, who had pricked up her ears when Dick’s 
name was mentioned, found it hard to wait for her 
aunt to finish her comment. 

"Is he going, too?” she asked. 

"Who — Dick? No, not at present. His men are 
needed here.” With that her face brightened. 

"Speaking of diaries, that reminds me,.” she said 
quickly, "Theodore promised to keep one, and not a 
glimpse have we had of it.” 

"What Teddy writes isn’t meant for everyone to 
see,” answered Harold. "His record of current events 
is a mere breviary, and the rest, judging from the ex- 
pression of his face when he is at it, is a meditation. 
Ted is a serious-minded chap, and I’m inclined to think 
that if he comes safely through the war he’ll ])e study- 
ing for the ministry next.” 

Virginia puckered her forehead. It was not easy to 
picture to herself her old playmate standing in the 
pulpit like Domine Rysdyck, in spectacles and pow- 
dered wig. She always thought of ministers as aged 
and venerable. There was dear old Domine Doll who 
sometimes exchanged pulpits with Domine Rysdyck 
— it was hard to realize that he had ever been young. 
And old Priest White, from Long Island, who, once 
or twice, when visiting his relatives in Fishkill, had 


i 62 


At the Manor 


preached in the Oak Glade church, — with his flowing 
hair and gentle fatherly face he had seemed to her 
like one of the Bible patriarchs. 

‘‘If that is what he decides on,^’ said Madam Van- 
derbeek, “he will go into it heart and soul. Theodore 
does nothing by halves. 

“Indeed he doesnT,’’ said Virginia. “He’d serve 
as faithfully under the sounding board as he does as 
a soldier under his country’s flag.” But her forehead 
was still wrinkled with the effort to imagine him in 
the role of a preacher. 

“Anent, the flag,” said Hal, “I wonder if you know 
that to Fort Stanwix belongs the honor of being the 
first to raise it. Congress had already given directions 
for a new standard — one with a star for every state — 
and commissioned Mrs. Betty Boss of Philadelphia to 
supply the army, but the fort was being besieged, and 
Colonel Gansevoort, wanting one at once, to hearten his 
forces and daunt the enemy, told Tom Fosdick, one of 
his drummer boys, to see what material he could scare up. 
So Tom scurried round and came back with a red flan- 
nel petticoat given him by a soldier’s wife, and two 
white ammunition shirts, but nothing blue. Fortu- 
nately, one of the officers had an army cloak that he 
had taken from the enemy at Peekskill, and before 
night the flag was defying the besiegers. Tom says it 
made a fine display and put new life into the men. ’ ’ 

“Why couldn’t we have one?” asked Virginia. 
“We can surely find something in the attic that would 
answer. Let’s go see, Catalyntie.” 

In a few minutes they were back. “Here’s a sur- 


The Traitor 


163 

prise for you,” said Catalyntie, holding up a red shawl. 
‘‘When Miss Sabrina learned what we wanted to do, 
she insisted on sacrificing this cherished possession, and 
nothing could serve our purpose better.” 

For the white bars a linen sheet was utilized. 

“And this,” said Virginia, shaking out a blue silk 
frock, long since outgrown, “will make the field for 
the stars.” 

“That?” deprecated Hal. “Oh, it seems a pity to 
cut that up. I remember just how you looked in it 
when you wore it to church. I used to wish you’d 
wear it every day, it was so pretty.” 

“Oh, I was as proud as a princess in it, and I’ve 
treasured it all these years because — because — ” She 
stopped with a sudden catch in her voice, for the little 
blue silk was always a reminder of her mother. 

“It was the last frock she ever bought for me,” she 
said to Catalyntie, as they settled down to work, “but 
I’m sure she would be glad to have me use it in so 
good a cause.” And though she had to turn her back 
while Catalyntie was ripping it apart, she managed to 
keep her tears in check. 

They were skillful and quick with their needles — 
sewing in those days was an important part of a girl’s 
education — and before night the last star was in place. 

“I doubt if Mistress Ross can produce anything 
finer,” said Virginia. “If we had a staff ready we’d 
run it up this minute. I long to see it waving.” 

“Not yet,” enjoined her uncle. “Hoisted now, it 
would be a challenge to any redcoat that might chance 


At the Manor 


164 

to spy it. It will be time enough to unfurl it when 
peace is assured.’’ 

So, after having been duly admired by the house- 
hold, it was laid carefully away in the linen-press to 
wait the happy day when the enemy could no longer 
claim the right to insult it. 


XXIII 


AT THE half- WAY OAK 

One morning the Brinckerhoff carriage, drawn by 
two skeleton horses, arrived at the manor, bringing 
Betty Newling and her brother — the latter just re- 
covering from an illness that had made another fur- 
lough necessary. 

“We are delegated by Aunt Charlotte to take Cata- 
lyntie home with us,'’ said Betty. “Katharine is so 
down-hearted, and she thinks no one else can cheer 
her. It's the uncertainty about Bob that's worrying 
her, and cheering is really the best medicine she could 
have." 

“And what are we going to do without Catalyntie, 
pray — ^Aunt Evelina and I?" asked Virginia. 

“Oh, I'm sure you ought to be able to stand it for 
a fortnight or two," said Betty. “It isn't as if we 
were taking her off for a year." 

David listened in silence while the discussion was 
on — ^he was prone to be silent when there were others 
to do the talking — but when Virginia began again to 
raise objections he told her bluntly that she was a sel- 
fish little piece. 

“I'd like to know what right he has to snap me up 
in that way," she said hotly, as she followed Catalyntie 
from the room to consult wdth Madam Vanderbeek. 


i66 


At the Manor 


‘‘Well, naturally, my dear, be is interested in Katha- 
rine,’’ Catalyntie answered, the pink in her cheeks 
going red. 

“Of course he is interested in her — why harp on 
that? He has always been like a brother to her, and 
doubly so since Bob left home. It’s not with that I’m 
finding fault, it’s his cool assumption that Katharine is 
the only one in the world that needs you.” 

Fortunately for Katharine Madam Vanderbeek was 
disposed to think that Catalyntie might be spared for 
a week or so, and when, in the cool of the day, David 
and Betty drove back to the village, Catalyntie went 
with them. By that time Virginia had begun to relent. 

“Give my love to Katharine,” was her parting in- 
junction, “and tell her she can keep you for a whole 
fortnight — ^not a day longer — and that, I think, ought 
to satisfy her.” 

But six weeks went by and Katharine was still un- 
willing to part with her. 

“We are the ones that will need cheering if she 
doesn’t let her come back soon,” Virginia complained 
to Madam Vanderbeek. “Having you and Catalyntie 
here has been my one consolation since the war began, 
and Katharine ought to remember that. ’ ’ 

But Katharine was too happy in having Catalyntie 
with her to realize that they might be lonely without 
her at the manor, and as Catalyntie showed no signs 
of being homesick the visit went on. 

Meanwhile, in both households everyone was hark- 
ing day and night for news from the front. And very 
cheering news it proved, the most of it, for at the 


At the Half-Way Oak 167 

south young Lafayette and that intrepid patriot, Gen- 
eral Nathaniel Greene, were chasing Cornwallis from 
pillar to post with a fair prospect of soon having him 
cornered, while in New York, Sir Henry Clinton’s men 
were quaking in their hoots for fear of being attacked 
by Washington. 

But Washington had another plan in mind, and be- 
fore the enemy could surmise it he was marching with 
all speed to join forces with General Greene and the 
young marquis. 

And then one day when the wind was robbing the 
trees of the last shreds of their brilliant livery, up 
from the south, as fast as mounted couriers could 
travel, came the glorious word that Cornwallis had 
surrendered. He was a masterly general, Lord Corn- 
wallis, but while he was fighting simply for his king 
— **no flower of kings” at that — ^Washington and his 
men were fighting for their hearthstones, for a country 
that they could call their own, and for God, with the 
hosts of God in league with them ; and the brave Eng- 
lishman, convinced at last that further resistance would 
be criminal stubbornness, had grimly marched his van- 
quished forces out of Yorktown with the band play- 
ing ‘‘The World’s Upside Down.” 

“Now, surely we might venture to raise our flag,” 
urged Virginia. 

But Madam Vanderbeek disapproved, saying that 
the enemy was still at lai^e and that, unprotected as 
they were, it would be wiser not to risk rousing ill feel- 
ing. 

“Well, at least Catalyntie ought to be here to re- 


i68 


At the Manor 


joice with us/’ said Virginia. “It takes away half 
the pleasure having to be glad all by ourselves.” 

Evidently, Catalyntie and the Brinckerhoffs were of 
the same mind, for a few minutes later old Jim, 
bent with age and hard work, hobbled up the steps 
with a request from Mrs. Brinckerholf that Madam 
Yanderbeek and Virginia would meet them at the half- 
way oak. 

“We would gladly drive over to see you,” ran the 
note, “but the horses are at the smithy biding their 
turn to be shod, and we^are too impatient to wait for 
them.” 

The “Half-Way Oak” stood at the edge of the woods 
midway between the village and the manor, and 
Madam Yanderbeek and Virginia, calling to Jeems 
Jubah to arm himself and go with them, set off at 
once, both eager for the tryst. 

As they neared the tree they found the others watch- 
ing for them, and while the girls, between embraces, 
breathlessly rehearsed the good tidings, Madam Van- 
derbeek and her sister threw themselves into each 
other’s arms with no words at command that could 
begin to measure their joy. 

Suddenly there was a rustle in the thicket behind 
them, and turning in alarm they discovered a young 
English soldier — his gay uniform frayed from contact 
with brush and brier — trying apparently to slip past 
them unnoticed. But Jeems Jubah and old Jim were 
on the alert, and before the others could rally from the 
start he had given them, they had covered him with 
their guns. 


At the Half-Way Oak 169 

The soldier halted instantly and raised a protesting 
hand. In spite of his disorderly clothing and mud- 
clogged boots, he had a gentlemanly bearing and there 
was no sign of flinching in the frank blue eyes as he 
faced the threatening muzzle. 

“I am at your mercy, friends,’^ he said, looking be- 
yond the boys and lifting his hat with courtly defer- 
ence. ‘‘But, if you care to be lenient, all that I ask is 
to be allowed to go my way. Through a misunder- 
standing I became separated from my comrades, and 
they are no doubt waiting for me somewhere in the 
neighborhood.’^ 

“Put down your guns, boys,” said Madam Vander- 
beek. And, thinking that he looked hungry, she 
opened a basket that she had carried on her arm and 
graciously invited him to help himself to the contents. 

“I’m sorry we have nothing more substantial to 
oJffer than these seed-cakes,” she said, with genuine 
regret. 

“Oh, thank you, madam, thank you,” he answered, 
beginning at once to make way with them. “What 
better could one ask? I have tasted no food to-day, 
60 you will pardon my greediness.” 

“Aunt Evelina, do let him have them all,” whis- 
pered Virginia. “We don’t need them.” 

“Hold your hands,” said Madam Vanderbeek. And 
into the eagerly outstretched palms she poured the 
entire supply. 

“God bless you and yours. Madam,” said the young 
fellow. And, touching his battered hat again, he 
turned to the woods and disappeared. 


At the Manor 


170 

so glad, Aunt Evelina, that you had some- 
thing to give him,^^ remarked Virginia. “I shall think 
of him whenever I see seed-cakes again. How he did 
devour them.’^ 

“Happily, he was hungry enough not to detect the 
difference between those and the old-time seed cakes, 
if ever he had the good fortune to taste them,^^ an- 
swered Madam Vanderbeek, who, having compounded 
the cakes with her own hands, felt a housewife’s dis- 
satisfaction over their inferior quality. “What a com- 
fort it will be to have enough of the necessary ingredi- 
ents to be able to go by our recipes once more.” 

“And what a treat it will be to our soldiers to have 
home-fare again,” said her sister. “0 Evelina, to 
think of having them back after all these years!” 

And so their happy tongues ran on until the sun, 
dipping to the purple hill-tops, warned them that it 
was time to be going. 

But Katharine still claimed Catalyntie. 

“And the worst of it is,” lamented Virginia, “Cata- 
lyntie doesn’t seem to mind staying.” 


XXIV 


A SUDDEN CALL 

Scarcely a week had passed after the news of the 
surrender when a messenger from Camp Carroll 
brought two letters to the manor, one for Madam Van- 
derbeek from her husband, the other for Virginia from 
her godmother. 

It was the first letter the little maid had received 
from Madam Culpepper since the beginning of the war. 

‘^How good she is to write me,’’ was her firsit ex- 
clamation. 

But before she had read a dozen lines her lips began 
to quiver. 

‘‘Aunt Evelina! Father has been wounded,” she 
gasped. “Oh, but he is recovering,” she cried with 
the next paragraph. “It happened before the sur- 
render and as he and his men were near Culpepper 
Hall he was taken there to be cared for.” 

“Then he is in good hands,” said Madam Vander- 
beek, hoping to cheer her. Virginia caught her breath 
and went on. 

“Though steadily improving, it may be months be- 
fore he will be able to travel, and he is growing very 
impatient to see his little daughter. No doubt she is 
equally impatient to see her father, and now that the 
war is over, he thinks that arrangements can be made 


172 


At the Manor 


for her to come to him. What do you say to it, little 
one? Some southern troops are expecting to return 
home soon under the command of our nephew, Richard 
Carroll, and if you are willing to put yourself in his 
care he will look out for your comfort in every way. 
Sis Sue will, no doubt, be more than willing to accom- 
pany you, and I will not try to tell you, my dear child, 
how glad we shall be to welcome you back to your 
birthplace. ’’ 

^‘Well, we must decide at once,’' said Madam Van- 
derbeek, glancing hastily over the letter she had been 
holding half read while listening to Virginia’s. ‘‘The 
carrier is waiting for an answer. It seems a perilous 
undertaking, but doubtless it is your duty to go, since 
your father asks it, and — what would you say to my 
going with you?” 

“Really and truly. Aunt Evelina?” 

“Well, your uncle tells mie that he is on his way to 
Culpepper Hall to attend your father, and, as Catalyn- 
tie is still wanted at her aunt’s, I see nothing to pre- 
vent my joining him. Then, too, you will need some 
one with you besides Sis Sue — faithful as she is. Now 
let Mammy Ann give the messenger a good meal, and, 
meanwhile. I’ll write to Colonel Carroll. After that 
we must begin our preparations, for we can’t tell how 
soon we may have to start.” 

Virginia flew to deliver her instructions to Mammy 
Ann ; then she summoned Sis Sue to come help her with 
the packing. 

“An’ isn’ dis chil’ gwine, too. Miss Wyginny?” 
asked the maid. 


A Sudden Call 


173 


** Indeed you are going, Sis Sue, and I^m so glad that 
you have been over the ground and can tell me all 
the places where we stopped when I was a baby — that 

is, if you can remember them.’^ 

“ ’Co^se I kin membeh 'em. Miss Wyginny. But 
I should n' want to be twabblin obeh dat woad agin 
if dah was gwine to be any mo' ob dem wuffins woun’ 
wot stoled you' silbah cup an' spoon." 

^‘Oh, we are not likely to be molested by highway- 
men, with a whole regiment to protect us," said Vir- 
ginia. And impatient as she was to see her father, 
the fact that Richard Carroll was to be their escort 
went far toward reconciling her to the length of the 
journey. 

^‘Perhaps he, too, will be a guest at Culpepper Hall," 
she mentally conjectured, with a quickened heart-beat. 
And thereupon she began to scan with a critical eye 
the frocks that Sis Sue was folding. How plain and 
old-fashioned they looked! And for the first time in 
all her young life she found herself deploring the limi- 
tations of her wardrobe. 

There was no time to spare for a farewell tryst with 
Mrs. Brinckerhoff and the girls at the half-way oak, 
but word was sent them post haste, and early the next 
morning the Brinckerhoff carriage with its bare-bone 
team drew up at the horse-block. 

‘^Well, of all things, Evelina, to think of you two 
starting off on a journey like this!" said Mrs. Brinck- 
erhoff. ‘‘I wonder that you have the pluck to attempt 

it. " 

“There are many things we can do to-day. Char- 


174 


At the Manor 


lotte, that we should never have thought possible be- 
fore the war, and this is one of them. Still, knowing 
how amply guarded we shall be, we can take little 
credit to ourselves, for courage.” 

‘‘Well, it^s something to be thankful for that you 
are not going to rob us of Catalyntie. Perhaps by the 
time you are back Bob will be with us again. Jack 
Bailey, who was in the same regiment, feels confident 
that, like himself, he has been all this time on one of 
the British prison ships, and that now he may be com- 
ing home any day. It is a mere shred of encourage- 
ment, but Katharine is clinging to it with desperate 
faith. God help us if nothing comes of it ! And now, 
what^s to be done first?” she asked, furtively wiping 
her eyes. “You are going to pack at once?” 

“Yes, but it will not take long, my dear, for we must 
carry nothing that isn’t absolutely necessary. The 
regiment will not want to be cumbered with luggage, 
and for the short stay we are likely to make, it won’t 
matter.” 

“Oh, but you will want something besides homespun 
at Culpepper Hall,” said Mrs. Brinckerhoff, carefully 
folding a satin petticoat that had not been worn since 
the war began. “It is high time that our silks and 
laces had an airing.” 

“Oh, put in what you please,” Madam Vanderbeek 
conceded, with a laugh, knowing her sister’s weakness 
for fine feathers, “only we must be quick about it.” 

And on the strength of this permission the deft 
packer slipped in an embroidered scarf and a lace 
stomacher. “We never know what we may need when 


A Sudden Call 


175. 

we are going away from home/' she said. ''The things 
we neglect to take are often the ones we want most." 

Meanwhile in the keeping-room the girls were talk- 
ing against time, but the unexpected journey, with its 
many fascinating and romantic features had not been 
half canvassed when the clip of hoofs was heard. 

"They've come!" exclaimed Virginia, springing to 
the window. 

Then her eye fell on two young officers just leaping 
from their saddles. 

"Why, no — ^it's Harold and Ted," she cried, delight 
mingling with disappointment in her voice as she ran 
to meet them. 

"Do tell us how it happens that you are here," she 
said. 

"We can do that in very few words," answered 
Harold, embracing her as warmly as a great bunch of 
purple asters in the hollow of his arm permitted. 

"No matter what his errand may be," she said to 
Theodore with a happy laugh, "Hal always manages 
to pluck a flower by the way." As they turned they; 
found the others waiting on the porch. 

"And how does it happen, pray, that you are all 
here to receive us, since we were not heralded?" asked 
Harold, thrusting the asters into Katharine's hands. 
"We hadn't counted on such a welcome." 

"Well, it is a pleasant surprise on both sides," said 
Madam Yanderbeek, greeting them with impartial af- 
fection. "We were looking for a promised escort, for 
we are about to start for the south — ^Virginia, and 1. 
How fortunate that you came before we were gone." 


At the Manor 


176 

‘^But we, too, are bound for the south, said Harold, 
enjoying their bewilderment. ‘‘When General Greene 
took command down there our company was needed 
here, but now that ‘the world’s upside down’ for the 
British and right side up again for the colonies tha 
north can readily spare us, and as Dick — who, by the 
way, is now a colonel — was somewhat short-handed for 
this southern march, many of his men having gone 
home to recruit, with unlimited leave of absence, we 
have been ordered to join his forces, and also to act 
as your body-guard. So here we are.” 

“Isn’t it strange how things come about some times,” 
observed Virginia with shining eyes. 

“They couldn’t have come about to suit us better,” 
said Theodore, thinking how womanly the little mis- 
tress of the manor had grown, and wondering if she still 
held him in the same category with Harold in her lik- 
ing for him. That was all very well when they were 
children — Shaving no sisters of his own he had thor- 
oughly appreciated the fact that both Virginia and 
Catalyntie regarded him as a brother — but now — 

“Indeed they couldn’t,” chimed in Harold. “We 
are not finding any fault with the arrangement, I 
assure you, only I can’t help wishing that we could 
tarry a little longer. We might, perhaps, have stayed 
till tomorrow, but Dick charged us to be as expeditious 
as possible as he wants to break camp at once. Be- 
sides, ’ ’ he added, anxiously, ‘ ‘ with father watching for 
us, every minute is precious.” 

An army wagon had been sent for the accommoda- 
tion of Madam Vanderbeek and Virginia. 


A Sudden Call 


177 


^‘It was the best Dick could do under the circum- 
stances/’ Theodore apologized, “and he took it might- 
ily to heart.” 

Madam Vanderbeek, with a premonition of pro- 
tracted torture in the springless vehicle, suggested 
that the old family coach might have been utilized. 

“I thought of proposing it,” said Harold, “but it 
has been idle such an age that it would take a week 
to make it fit for service.” 

“Oh, doubtless we shall find the wagon very com- 
fortable,” said his aunt, determined to be resigned 
to whatever was in store for her. 

“Why, we couldn’t ask anything better,” Virginia de- 
clared, too full of the journey to be troubled about 
the conveyance. What would any of the discomforts 
they might encounter signify, she said to herself, with 
her birthplace for their Mecca, and Harold and Ted — 
and Richard, she added softly — for their daily com- 
rades ? And, best of all, at the journey’s end she would 
have her father again. 


XXV 


THE DAUGHTER OP THE REGIMENT 

Though it was past midnight when they reached 
Camp Carroll they found the young colonel waiting for 
them. But it was not till he had saluted Madam Van- 
derbeek, avowing himself, in the courtly old-school 
fashion, her most obedient servant, that he gave his 
hand to Virginia. 

*‘You are very kind. Colonel Carroll,’^ she said, with 
a shy curtsy, ‘‘to be willing to take us under your 
protection. ’ * 

“Oh, come now!^’ he cried, “drop the ‘Colonel’ and 
call me Dick, as you did in the old days at the manor. 
I’m the same boy still, in spite of my shoulder-straps, 
and always shall be to my friends.” 

“Ah, but circumstances have changed,” said Madam 
Vanderbeek, with thorough approval of Virginia’s def-! 
erential attitude, “and respect is due to your official 
rank.” 

But Virginia’s dancing eyes assured him that she 
still regarded him as “Dick,” and though she per- 
sisted in addressing him by his military title, he was 
very well satisfied. 

From the first they had fine weather, with the air 
full of the leafy fragrance of Indian summer, and 
though cool enough morning and evening to suggest 




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The Daughter of the Regiment 179 

the approach of winter, during the intervening hours 
it was deliciously warm, and the mellow skies, with 
horizons veiled in azure mists, made the country seem 
an enchanted land. The scenery was wild and beauti- 
ful, and that Madam Vanderbeek and Virginia might 
enjoy it to the full Richard charged his men to go at 
a moderate pace. 

*‘We can afford now to let the enemy do the hurry- 
ing, he said. 

And the men, ever on the alert to win a smile from 
the motherly ‘‘Madam’’ and already regarding “the 
little lady” as the “Daughter of the Regiment,” were 
no less eager than their colonel to consult their pleas- 
ure. 

The detachment reached Philadelphia on a Saturday 
afternoon, and the soldiers straightway pitched their 
tents and made preparations to remain in camp until 
Monday, for their leader allowed no marching on Sun- 
day except when the exigencies of war necessitated it. 

“The right keeping of the day is never lost time,” 
he remarked to Madam Vanderbeek. “It has helped 
in the winning of many a battle, both men and horses 
holding out vastly better through the week for the 
rest and refreshment that it brings.” 

Madam Vanderbeek heartily agreed with him, but 
quite aside from her regard for the Sabbath, she re- 
joiced at the prospect of a little respite for herself for, 
though she had uttered no word of complaint, every 
bone in her body was an aching protest against the 
rude jolting of the army-wagon, and when she found 
herself, with Virginia and Sis Sue lodged in a roomy 


i8o 


At the Manor 


home-like inn, she sank into one of the big arm-chairs 
by the hearth with the feeling of one that comes upon 
a palm-grove in the desert. 

The next day, after conducting services for his men, 
Richard, accompanied by Theodore and Harold, called 
at the inn to invite Madam Vanderbeek and Virginia 
to take a stroll through the city. 

“What a grand man Dick has made of himself,’^ 
said Virginia, with a throb of envy as, walking sedate- 
ly between Harold and Ted, she watched the young 
colonel draw Madam Vanderbeek ^s arm through his 
with filial deference. 

“Ay, and he is as good as he is grand, Ted an- 
swered warmly. 

“It is so thoughtful of him to give his arm t6 Aunt 
Evelina,” Virginia went on. 

“Allow me,” mocked Theodore, crooking his elbow. 

“Nonsense, Ted! Wait till Pm sixty and I may be 
glad to take it.” 

“At sixty may it be my privilege to repeat the 
offer,” said Theodore, his voice growing serious. 

“That’s a far look ahead,” observed Hal. 

“Not so far that we may not hope to be still keep- 
ing step together,” said Theodore. 

“This,” interrupted Richard, coming to a halt, “is 
the State House. It was here the colonies’ Declaration 
of Independence was made. By the way, have you 
heard, I wonder, how near those in favor of the Dec- 
laration came to being defeated? It was one man’s 
vote that saved it, and that man was General Caesar 
Rodney. He was down in Delaware, over eighty miles 


The Daughter of the Regiment i8i 

from Philadelphia, raising recruits, when word reached 
him that the vote was to be taken, and putting spurs 
to his horse, he rode the distance in sixteen hours, 
dashing into the State House, just in time to cast his 
ballot. Had he been too late, those opposed to the 
Declaration would doubtless have carried the day.’^ 

‘‘That was a vote that counted,’’ said Harold. 

“Ay, but every vote counts,” asserted Dick, “and 
the man that shirks the responsibility of voting de- 
serves to be ostracized.” 

Presently they came to the old elm under which 
William Penn sealed his treaty with the Indians. 

“A treaty,” said Richard, “that remained unbroken 
for over half a century, because founded on the ‘Gol- 
den Rule’.” 

In the afternoon they attended a Quaker meeting 
where, between the restful silences, the members spoke 
“as the Spirit gave them utterance,” and here, at the 
close of the service, they met two cousins — John Mar- 
shall and his wife — whom they had not seen for many 
a year. 

“To meet an old friend in these days, Evelina, is a 
rare treat,” said John. “Why can’t thee come and 
spend the night with us?” 

Mrs. Marshall was quick to second the invitation, 
but the inn was nearer the camp and for that reason 
Madam Vanderbeek thought it wiser not to make a 
change. They all tarried long enough on the meeting- 
house steps, however, to exchange many bits of family 
news, together with congratulations on the promising 
outlook for the country. 


i 82 


At the Manor 


“We expect by spring to be established in our home 
again/’ said Madam Vanderbeek, “and then we shall 
want a visit from you.” 

“Well wait till spring before we promise thee, Eve- 
lina,” said John Marshall, with Quaker caution. “The 
British have not yet weighed anchor. They were loth 
enough to give up Philadelphia, and they cling still 
more desperately to New York. It is their last hope.” 

“But this turning of the tide is their death warrant,” 
answered Evelina, “and it stands to reason that their 
going can’t be delayed much longer.” 

While they were breakfasting the next morning Mr. 
Marshall called at the inn to offer them the loan of his 
carriage. 

“Friend Carroll will have to furnish thee with a 
team,” he said, “as we haven’t one left that is fit for 
the road. But the carriage, though somewhat the worse 
for wear, thee will no doubt find more comfortable 
than the lumbering army vehicles and such as it is, 
thee is welcome to it.” 

“It will be a Godsend, cousin John,” said Madam 
Vanderbeek, “for I’ve had the life nearly shaken out 
of me and was dreading having the process repeated.” 

Virginia was glad on her aunt’s account. For her- 
self she had not yet tired of the novelty of traveling 
in an army wagon, but the carriage afforded a much 
better view of the landscape, and she was eager to take 
it all in. 

And now the road, thickly matted with fallen leaves, 
lay through a dense forest. 

“These are Penn’s woods,” said the colonel, pacing 


The Daughter of the Regiment 183 

his horse beside the carriage. ^‘William Penn and his 
father at one time owned all this land and William, 
with his ‘Holy Experiment’ made the Indians his life- 
long friends. Pennsylvania’s indebtedness to him is 
past measuring.” 

“Penn’s Woods,” repeated Virginia. “I never 
thought before of the meaning of the name. What 
grand old woods they are.” 

The following day, in the heart of the sylvan wil- 
derness, Sis Sue suddenly sprung to her feet. 

“Miss Wyginny!” she exclaimed, “dis am de bewy 
spot — de spot wah dat big giant took yo’ silbah cup 
an’ spoon, an’ wah yo’ uns come mighty nigh bein’ 
took, too.” 

“Oh, are you sure. Sis Sue?” cried Virginia, scan- 
ning their surroundings with shuddering interest. 

“Deed I is. I membehs it like ’twas yest’dy. Yo’ 
po’ paw an’ maw’d membeh it, too, ef dey was heah.” 

“He chose a favorable place, with this heavy tim- 
ber on either side,” said Harold, who, with Theodore, 
had more than once heard the attack described and 
at every hearing had sworn vengeance on the villain. 

Then Virginia had to tell the story to the colonel, 
and the colonel told his orderly, and the orderly passed 
it down the line, and it was not long before the entire 
regiment knew that just here their little lady, when 
scarcely three months old, had been robbed and nearly- 
kidnaped by a big highwayman. 

“I’d like to see him try the same game now,” said 
Dick fiercely. “He’d get more by a long shot than he 
bargained for.” 


At the Manor 


184 

‘‘But that wouldn’t give me back my christening 
gifts,” lamented Virginia. 

“That’s very true, and I can heartily sympathize 
with you. While at school in England I was presented 
with a jeweled snuff-box by my cousin, Philip Land- 
hurst, and I prized it the more because of his death a 
year later. I had both our names engraved on it, and 
it was the only article of any value that I took with 
me when I enlisted. He was so saintly that I regarded 
it almost in the light of a charm, and, strange as it may 
seem, in the battle of Monmouth, it saved my life, de- 
flecting a bullet that otherwise would have made an 
end of me. Not long afterward I missed it, but, with 
our men on the verge of defeat, it was no time to think 
of my personal loss, and later it was useless to search 
for it.” 

“Oh, you may find it yet. I always comfort myself 
with the belief that whatever I have lost that is really 
worth finding will in time come back to me.” 

‘ ‘ That is a very happy way of taking mishaps of that 
sort,” responded Dick. “But I’m afraid that nothing 
short of a miracle will ever give me back my snuff- 
box.” 

“Ah, the things we least expect are the ones that 
are always happening,” said the girl, with illogical op- 
timism. 

Towards the close of day, coming to an opening in 
the forest, where a wide glade sloped down to a bab- 
bling stream, the colonel called a halt for the night. 

It was an ideal nook for an encampment, but so wild 


The Daughter of the Regiment 185 


and sequestered that Madam Vanderbeek surveyed it 
with a shiver of fear. 

“I overheard a soldier say that there are wild beasts 
in these woods,” she informed Virginia tremulously, as 
they took possession of the tent provided for them. 

^‘Oh, but they are much too wary to come prowling 
around a place like this, with sentinels at every turn. 
And only see, Aunt Evelina, how weird and beautiful 
it is.” 

Here and there great brushwood fires had been 
lighted, and the black kettles simmering over them, 
the dimly-outlined figures moving about and the flick- 
ering shadows on the grass between the rows of tents, 
made it easy for her to imagine herself in a gypsy 
camp. 

At first there was a confusion of noises — ^the stamp- 
ing and neighing of horses, the scurry of feet, and the 
shouts and laughter of the soldiers busy with prepara- 
tions for the night. Then, at intervals, as the other 
sounds died down, came snatches of song and fugitive 
strains of flute and violin. But these, too, lapsed at 
last, leaving nothing to break the silence but the steady 
foot-fall of the guard and the crackling of the blazing 
brush-wood. 

To Virginia, romantic and impressionable, it was 
more enchanting than any fairy tale, and her last 
thought, as sleep overcame her, was the wish that 
Catalyntie could have been there to share it all. 

She had not slept long — it seemed to her that she had 
but fairly lost consciousness — when the sentry ^s chal- 
lenge caught her ear, and the next minute she became 


i86 


At the Manor 


aware of a commotion in the camp. Her aunt was sleep- 
ing peacefully and the regular purring of Sis Sue went 
on without a break. 

When arranging their tent for the night Sis Sue had 
made a bed for herself across the entrance. 

‘‘Dat's so dat if any un ’tacked us befo’ mawnin’ 
dey’d hab to walk obeh dis chile ’fo’ dey’d git to yo’ 
uns,” she explained. 

But she was a heavy sleeper and it was not till Vir- 
ginia, in her anxiety to learn what was going on out- 
side, attempted to pass her, that she stirred. 

‘‘Sh! Sh!” cautioned Virginia. ‘‘Don’t speak until 
we know whether there is any real trouble or not.” 

“What is it, child!” questioned Madam Vanderbeek, 
waking in a tremble. “Not a catamount, I hope.” 

“It would take something more than a catamount to 
stir up such a hubbub, seems to me,” said Virginia, 
her own voice growing shaky. “But don’t be fright- 
tened, Aunt Evelina. Hark! they are hurrahing. It 
must be more good news. Oh, here come the boys. I 
know Ted’s laugh.” 

“Are you awake in there?” asked Theodore, at the 
tent door. 

“Pray, who could sleep in all this racket?” scouted 
Virginia. “Do tell us what has happened.” 

“The British are preparing to evacuate New York,” 
was the exultant answer. 

“God be praised. Now we may indeed count on hav- 
ing our homes again,” exclaimed Madam Vanderbeek. 
“At least what is left of them,” she ended with a sigh. 


The Daughter of the Regiment 187 

Then Richard’s voice made itself heard with a repeti- 
tion of the welcome tidings. 

And by the time the men were through questioning 
the courier and the camp had grown quiet again, the 
birds were beginning to pipe their matins in the tree- 
tops. 


XXVI 


A SERENADE 

Gradually as they journeyed southward October 
changed to June and though now and then from the 
wayside trees a covey of bright leaves drifted down 
— ^not because nipped with frost, but simply from over- 
ripeness — wild roses were still blossoming in thickets 
and hedges along the road, and many a dear old garden 
that they passed — ^the home deserted — was gay with the 
riotous bloom of flowers that at the north flourish only 
in midsummer. 

“It is like having summer over again, declared 
Hal, in love with a climate that could furnish roses 
and violets all the year round. 

Virginia and Ted were equally enthusiastic, and Dick 
was immensely pleased with their appreciation of his 
beloved south. 

“You make me proud of my native heath,’’ he 
laughed. 

But while the younger travelers were enjoying every 
hour of the journey Madam Vanderbeek — from sheer 
weariness — was longing to have it end. And at last in 
the ruddy glow of a November twilight they came in 
sight of Culpepper Hall with its tall chimneys and high- 
pillared portico. 

“Oh, please let me put,” called Virginia to the 


A Serenade 


189 

driver, for in the wide doorway stood a white-haired 
woman, tall and stately, and she did not need to be told 
that it was her god-mother waiting to welcome her. 

But her father just then held precedence of everyone 
else in her thoughts, and as soon as Madam Culpepper 
released her she begged to be taken to him. 

‘^He is expecting you,’’ said her god-mother, lead- 
ing the way to a door at the far end of the gallery. 
And, leaving her to go in alone, she went back to greet 
Madam Yanderbeek. 

^‘Father!” cried the girl, going down beside the bed 
and pressing her cheek to the white face on the pillow. 

Presently the rest joined them, and there was so 
much to be said in this first reunion, that no one 
thought of the time 0’ day — or, rather, the time o’ 
night, for the candles had been lighted an hour or 
more — until an appetizing hint of broiled chicken and 
hot corn pone penetrating the room, reminded the 
hostess that the travelers were still fasting. 

‘‘We must leave the other patients till tomorrow,” 
she said. 

“What, you have others?” asked Virginia. 

“Indeed we have — a baker’s dozen, in all. Shortly 
before Cornwallis surrendered, a company of General 
Greene’s men had an encounter with the enemy not 
far from our plantation, and, though victorious, some 
of them were badly wounded and your god-father had 
them brought here for the night. Ambulances were to 
be sent the next morning to take them to their bar- 
racks, but we had succeeded in settling them so com- 
fortably in the carriage-house — we call it ‘the second 


IQO 


At the Manor 


ward’ — 'that they begged us to let them stay. So there 
they are, and your Uncle Vanderbeek has charge of 
them.” 

‘‘Dear me! If I only knew a little more about nurs- 
ing the sick,” said Virginia, “I might be able to help 
you in caring for them.” 

“Oh, our boys are looking after them. Plato and 
Socrates are excellent nurses. But you might divert 
them, perhaps, by reading to them. Or, if you can 
sing — and I am sure you can — a song or a hymn now 
and then might cheer them.” 

“I don’t know that I could promise that,” said Vir- 
ginia, always as shy as a hermit-thrush when it came 
to letting her voice be heard in singing, though it was 
a very sweet soprano, “but I should be glad to read 
to them.” 

At the dining-room door stood Colonel Culpepper 
with outstretched arms. 

“Well, well!” he exclaimed, kissing her on either 
cheek, “is it possible that this tall girl is the little one 
that was our ‘guest from God’ so long ago? And who 
would have predicted that when she came again she 
would find the south devastated by war? Ah, these 
have been dark days for us, sweetheart, but the worst 
is over, thank Grod, and at last we are a free country. 
Do you realize what that means, child?” 

“Come, come, my dear, let the child have something 
to eat before you begin on that,” begged Madam Cul- 
pepper, drawing Virginia to the table. 

“He never knows when to stop when the talk chances 
to turn on the war,” she whispered, “so I have to 


A Serenade 


191 


hedge him off. We ’ll let your friend, Theodore, sit 
next to him and Harold the other side. That will 
give you a reprieve, if they are able to hold their own, 
and they look quite equal to it — by the way, I like that 
young lieutenant. And Harold, too, what a fine manly 
fellow he is. Well, let them take the colonel between 
them, and Dick when he comes shall be your right- 
hand neighbor. Ah, here he is now.” 

Dick, who had waited to see his men encamped for 
the night, returned his aunt’s greeting as warmly as 
if he had been her son. 

‘^She is my godmother, too” he said to Virginia, 
taking the seat assigned him with a look that attested 
his cordial approval of the arrangement. ‘Hn that we 
share honors.” 

“Yes, and it is an honor that I dearly prize,” said 
the girl, with a beaming face. “Not everyone is fav- 
ored with such a godmother as Madam Culpepper and 
a godfather like the colonel.” 

“Indeed not, and it has always seemed to me that 
it ought to make us related. It is surely a family tie. ’ ’ 
Then he gave her thoughts another trend by asking 
about her father. 

“Oh, he is better — so much better that he will no 
doubt soon be on his feet again,” she said joyously. 

Richard drew in his lip and his eyes grew suddenly 
grave. 

“She do'esn’t know,” he said to himself. Then he 
managed to smile again. 

“Well, tell him from me,” he replied gently, “that 
he has a brave little daughter and that the regiment 


192 


At the Manor 


has adopted her. By the way, I have a message for 
you from the men. We must be off at eock-crowing 
tomorrow, so they have begged the privilege of giving 
you a bit of a serenade tonight for a farewell, if you 
are not too tired — you and Madam Vanderbeek.’’ 

“What are you two plotting?’^ asked Madam Van- 
derbeek, hearing herself included in what Dick was 
saying. 

“I’m afraid you will think that we are plotting to 
rob you of your night’s rest, or at least a good share 
of it,” he said. And then he repeated the proposition. 

“Oh, indeed we are not too tired for a treat like 
that,” she answered. “And it will cheer up the pa- 
tients, too.” 

Whereupon, he dispatched Plato to carry the “per- 
mit” to his orderly who was waiting outside, and sup- 
per was scarcely over when “Bonnie Dundee” drew 
every one to the corridor. Then the fiddlers and the 
fifers gave “Money Musk” and “The Campbells are 
Coming,” followed with “The World’s Upside Down,” 
and when with the inspiring strains of “Yankee 
Doodle,” the serenade came to an end, Virginia had 
clapped her hands till they ached. There was a little 
ache in her heart, too, for though through it all Rich- 
ard had been beside her, sharing her delight, — tomor- 
row he would be gone. 

Late as it was the hostess insisted on having refresh- 
ments served to the musicians, and when they finally 
said good-night and started for camp, the clock was 
striking twelve. 

“We, too, must do our leave-taking now,” said 


A Serenade 


193 

Kiehard, since we’ll have to be up and away before 
any of you are awake.” 

Virginia’s chin quivered with a suggestion of unshed 
tears. 

^‘It is a goodby that is hard to say,” she faltered. 
*^You have been so kind — doing so much to make the 
journey easy and pleasant for us.” 

‘‘Nay, the pleasure has been mine,” he said, in his 
courtly fashion, bending over the hand he held, “and 
could I have my wish the journey would go on for 
many a day to come.” 

Before she could quite satisfy herself as to the im- 
port of this farewell so gallantly spoken Theodore and 
Hal joined them, and Richard, feeling that they were 
entitled to the last word, considerately withdrew. 

“Take good care of father, little sister,” enjoined 
Hal. “But don’t — don’t he uneasy about him,” he 
added, with a break in his voice. “He’ll pull through 
all right.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Virginia brightly. “Uncle Barent 
says he is getting on finely.” 

“So he is,” returned Harold. But, like Dick, he 
sighed to himself. “She doesn’t know,” while Ted 
turned away, with his nails buried in his palms. 

“0 my colonel!” he murmured under his breath. 

Silence had settled on the place within and without, 
and in one of the spacious guest chambers Harold was 
just dropping off when Theodore abruptly roused him. 

“Say, Hal! he’s a splendid fellow — nobody can dis- 
pute that — but don’t you think he is rather along in 
years to be playing the lover to a girl not out of her 


194 


At the Manor 


teens?’’ he asked, teased with the remembrance of the 
impressive way in which Eichard had bidden Virginia 
goodby. ‘‘He must be well on to thirty.” 

“Dick! Why, he can’t be much more than twenty- 
six or so,” yawned Harold. “And now, shut your eyes, 
Ted. I’m too sleepy to discuss ages, and it is so re- 
freshing to be between linen sheets again that I want 
to make the most of it. But don’t you worry, sonny, 
about Dick Carroll. He hasn’t lost either his heart or 
his head. Neither has Virginia lost hers.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” muttered Ted. But some- 
thing in Harold’s voice carried conviction with it and 
sent the young lieutenant off to dreamland in a more 
reasonable frame of mind. 


xxvn 


IN THE SECOND WARD 

Virginia’s first thought the next morning was of her 
father, and as soon as breakfast was over she estab- 
lished herself at his bedside. 

They had the ‘‘ward” to themselves, and Virginia 
found so much to relate in connection with the journey 
that her father had only to listen. And to this he re- 
signed himself with great contentment, the happy 
young voice making him forget for the time his pain 
and weariness, as well as a certain dismal fact that he 
had not yet found courage to confide to her. 

“Go on, dearest,” he urged when at last she came 
to a stop, fearing that she was tiring him. “It is doing 
me good.” 

So the broken thread was picked up willingly, the 
ardent little traveler feeling that the half had not 
been told. 

But Doctor Vanderbeek, looking in an hour later, 
decided that it was time for her father to take his 
morning nap, and straightway carried her off to see 
the other patients. 

The old carriage-house, roomy and well ventilated, 
made a very comfortable hospital, but a hospital at 
best is apt to be a depressing place to visit, and Vir- 
ginia, as she caught sight of the poor fellows with their 


At the Manor 


196 

pale and haggard faces, clung to her uncle’s hand with 
a shudder. 

But when she saw how their faces brightened as the 
doctor went from one cot to another, and how grate- 
ful they seemed even for a passing word^ she became 
so interested that before long she found herself chat- 
ting with a gray-bearded veteran who had lost an arm 
in his country’s service. Then a young boy attracted 
her — ^he looked so sorrowful and weak. 

“If I could only see mother it would be all right,” 
he said brokenly. 

While she was trying to cheer him, her uncle called 
her. But as she turned to join him she was stopped 
by a shaggy-headed man on an iron bedstead. He was 
blanched and wasted, but his frame was so colossal that 
the bed had been pieced out with a carpenter’s bench 
to accommodate his legs. 

“See here, little Miss, is your name Viginny?” he 
asked, catching her by the sleeve and scanning her face 
with his keen black eyes. 

“Yes, that is my name,” said the “little Miss” in 
a puzzled voice. 

“But that ain’t all of it?” he persisted. 

“No, the whole of it is Virginia Theodesia Culpepper 
Sprague,” she answered, her cheeks dimpling. 

A red flush mounted to the man’s forehead. 

“Seems to me I’ve heard that name before,” he 
said slowly. 

“Come, child,” Doctor Vanderbeek called again. 

“Oh, perhaps I have a namesake,” said the girl with 
a little laugh. And as she followed her uncle she won- 
dered who the other Virginia Theodosia could be. 


In the Second Ward 


197 


In the afternoon as she was passing through the ward 
with the doctor on his last round the man again 
brought her to a stop. 

^‘Was you ever travelin’ round in these parts, little 
Miss, when you was a baby?’^ he asked. 

“Yes, I was born here in this very house, and a few 
months later we went in the stage coach to New York — 
my father and mother and I and Sis Sue, the nurse.’' 

“Then I s’pose you’ve heard tell ’bout them robbers 
that held up the stage in the middle 0’ the woods?” 
And once more his tanned cheeks crimsoned. 

“What! the cruel men that took my cup and spoon? 
Why, I’ve known that story all my life, and I’ve always 
wondered how they could have been so hard-hearted 
as to rob a helpless baby.” 

“Oh, come now. Missy! You mustn’t think they 
was the worst in the world. How was they goin’ to 
tell that your cup an’ spoon was in that bag, I’d like 
to know?” 

“Well, ’twas a big giant of a man that stole them,” 
said Virginia stoutly, “and he ought to have been 
making his living in some better way.” 

Then of a sudden the young eyes took in the unusual 
length of the figure on the cot, the brawny shoulders, 
the leonine head. 

“Why!” she cried, starting to her feet, “I believe 
you are the — ^the giant.” 

For half a minute the man hid his head under a 
corner of his blanket. Then he raised himself on his 
elbow and faced her squarely. 

“Well s ’posin’ I be? What you goin’ to do about 


At the Manor 


198 

it? ^Twas so long ago I reckon it’s outlawed by this 
time. But the cup an’ spoon’s all right, little Miss, 
an’ some day you’ll have ’em back if I live to git 
home. You see, my woman’s that soft-hearted that 
when she found I took ’em from a mite of a baby she 
wouldn’t let me do nuthin’ with ’em. I ’spose havin’ 
a baby of her own she knowd how she’d feel if any- 
body ’d stole so much as a pewter plate from it — not- 
withstandin’ hern was a boy — an’ all these years she’s 
kep’ ’em under lock an’ key, hopin’ some day she’d 
git a chance to give ’em back to the one they b ’longed 
to. ’Twas five or six years afterwards that our little 
gal was born, an’ Myrandy’d hev give her your name 
if there hadn’t been such a lot of it. I tol’ her ’twas 
lenough to kill a young one to have a name like that. 
Fact is, little Miss, I wonder how you ever lived to 
grow up with such a string of ’em tagged on to you. 
One name, says I, is enough for anybody, so she con- 
cluded at las’ to make it ^Vidoshy’ an’ done with it.” 

‘^Oh, then she is my namesake after all,” said Vir- 
ginia, with a merry light in her eyes. 

‘‘Well, kinder. Vidoshy’s as nigh as we could git 
to it, an’ that’s a good ’eal of a mouthful, but it’s a 
name you don’t hear every day. Jus’ ’fore the war 
began, my ol’ woman took a notion to go up north to 
visit her folks. They lived out in Jersey, an’ one day 
she went over to New York with Vidoshy to see one 
of her cousins, an’ some way — never knowd jus’ how 
it happened — ^the little gal got adrift in a boat off the 
Battery an’ come mighty nigh bein’ drowned. But a 
young miss who was walkin’ ’long the shore swum out 


In the Second Ward 


199 


an’ towed her safe to land, an’ jus’ then her maw 
came hurrin’ back an’ heard the young lady’s friends 
call her Viginny. So she up an’ axed her what her 
name was, an’ she said ’twas Viginny Feodoshy, an’ 
she’s been wonderin’ ever since if she was the one 
Vidoshy was named for.” 

“Oh, was that your wife? I remember hearing her 
tell the child that perhaps I was her namesake.” 

“Then you’re the little Miss that saved her?” said 
the man, with a catch in his throat. “After me bein’ 
so mean to you, too! Maybe you wouldn’t ’a’ done it 
if you’d knowd whose chil’ she was.” 

“Oh, that would have made no difference. She was 
in need of help and that was enough. She was a nice 
little lassie, too, and I hope she will grow up to be a 
comfort to you.” 

“Grow up! Why, Missy, she’s a hull head now tal- 
ler ’n her maw, an’ purty nigh as good. If it hadn’t 
be’n for them two I do’n know as I’d ever give up the 
road. It suited me well enough, but Myrandy was 
al’ays worryin’ ’bout me, fearin’ I’d git took up some 
time, or, may be, shot in my tracks, but most of all 
’cause, ’cordin’ to her way 0’ thinkin’, it wasn’t an 
honest callin’. ’Sides, she said, if I kep’ at it, like as 
not Jim — that’s our boy — would take to it, too. So 
when the war begun thinks I that’s my chance — I’ll 
jine the army. Jim, he was hankerin’ to jine too, and 
when I know’d what they was fightin’ for, says I, ’come 
on, bub, that’s jus’ what I’m a wantin — a free coun- 
try — a country where everybody kin do as they please 
an’ help ’emselves to whatever they take a notion to, 
’thout askin’ nobody’s leave.” 


200 


At the Manor 


^‘Oh, but no one is free to do wrong,’’ remonstrated 
the girl. ‘‘We want to be free and independent as a 
nation, but only that we may be stronger for the right 
and better able to help ourselves and others to nobler 
ways of living — ^not free to foUow any evil wish or 
purpose. 

“Maybe that’s so,” the giant admitted. “But ’taint 
some people ’s idee of a free country. The way they look 
at it a man ain’t free if he’s got to obey the law.” 

“But don’t you see that in that case there would 
be no safety for any one? Even you, big and strong 
as you are, wouldn’t be safe if there were no laws to 
protect you. Suppose you had a snug home for your- 
self and family and another man came along and 
wanted it — ^what would keep him from taking posses- 
sion of it, if he had the strength to put you out ? And 
look at your wallet lying there. It might have a thou- 
sand dollars in it, and if I should pick it up and walk 
off with it, since you are too weak to defend yourself, 
wouldn’t I have as much right to it as you had to 
my cup and spoon?” 

“I reckon you would, little miss. But I shouldn’t 
be af eared if it had twenty thousand dollars in it, an’ 
the Queen o’ Sheeby’s crown in the bargain, ’cause 
you ain’t that kind. But don’t you worry ’bout that cup 
and spoon. I’ve give you my promise that you’re goin’ 
to git ’em agin, an’ bad as I be, I don’t never go back 
on my word. Myrandy ain’t never felt right ’bout 
keepin’ ’em, though time an’ agin I’ve teld her I’s 
mortal sorry I ever took ’em. But you see, Myrandy 
stands by the Bible, an’ she says there ain’t no use in a 


In the Second Ward 


201 


man’s jus’ bein’ sorry he’s done a mean thing if he 
don’t do what he can to ondo it, an’ that’s why she’s 
al’ays be’n hopin’ I’d find that pesky baby an’ give 
the things back to it.” 

Whil'e this discussion was going on, Doctor Vander- 
beek had been quietly passing from cot to cot, ap- 
parently thinking only of his patients, but his quick 
ear had caught the giant’s tribute to his wife. 

‘‘Your Miranda is a wise woman,” he remarked, 
gently patting a craggy shoulder that jutted from the 
bed. ‘ ‘ ’Twould be a good thing for the colonies — 
ay, and a good thing for the world — ^if everybody stood 
by the Bible. Only think of it ! If everyone followed 
its teachings, there would never be another war, and 
we should need neither prisons nor poor-houses, for 
every man would love his neighbor as himself, and 
none would be willing to wrong another or see him in 
want.” 

‘‘I’m afraid that’d leave a good many folks out o’ 
work,” said the giant grimly 

“Not a bit of it,” answered the doctor. “There 
would be no idlers anywhere. Everybody would find 
honest and useful employment, and be happy in doing 
it well.” 

Other patients were needing him, and with a friendly 
nod, he passed on. Virginia, at the moment, was 
summoned to the house. Sis Sue bringing her word that 
Madam Culpepper wanted her, and the giant was left 
to himself. But he was left with something to think 
about. 

“Uncle Barent,” whispered the girl, in passing, 


202 


At the Manor 


suppose we don’t tell th-em of his confession just yet. 
It might trouble them to know they were harboring a 
highwayman. ’ ’ 

Doctor Vanderbeek’s sole reply was a whimsical 
smile, but it satisfied her that she would be doing noth- 
ing dishonorable in keeping her discovery a secret for 
the present. 


XXVIII 


GRAVE PROBLEMS 

In the course of the week Colonel Sprague was pro- 
nounced able to sit up for an hour or two, and not 
until the day before this permission was given did 
Virginia learn that for the remainder of his life he 
must walk with a crutch. 

‘^Wliy, that’s not worth breaking your heart over, 
darling,” he chided, laying his hand on the curly head 
buried in his pillow. “A leg — a left leg at that — is 
a small thing to give for one’s country. Think of the 
thousands that have given their lives. And, see, dear- 
est, it is below the knee, and I shall still be able to ride 
Red Robin. Only wait till we are back at Oak Glade, 
and we’ll have gallops galore again, God willing, you 
and I, sweetheart.” 

And at last Virginia managed to check her sobs. 
But it was many a day before she could see him 
hobbling about on his crutch without having to crowd 
back the tears. 

It was not till he had been sitting up at intervals 
for a fortnight that he was allowed to join the family 
at dinner, and in honor of his first appearance in the 
dining-room, the hostess and Madam Vanderbeek came 
down in satin gowns, with puffed and powdered hair. 

‘‘JVhy, this seems like old times,” he remarked. 


204 


At the Manor 


‘‘Our ladies have so long denied themselves all luxur- 
ies in the matter of dress that we came near forgetting 
that they had ever worn any other than homespun 
fabrics. ’ ’ 

“That was because they wore the homespun with a 
grace that made it fine/^ returned Colonel Culpepper. 
“Still, it was a self-denial for which they deserve high 
praise, and it is only one of the many ways in which 
they have helped the country to win the victory. If 
the history of their courage and self-sacrifice were 
written — and some day it will be — it would make a 
book worth reading. North and South alike, they 
have shown themselves heroines. Look at Mollie 
Pitcher at the battle of Monmouth, and down here 
throughout the region of Fishing Creek, the young 
women, banding together, went from farm to farm 
during harvest time and took no rest till all the crops 
were under cover, and that at the risk of having the 
enemy pounce down on them at any minute. There 
was bravery for you.^’^ 

“Ay,” said Doctor Vanderbeek. “It was almost 
equal to that of two little maids up north, who, at the 
risk of their lives, put to flight a party of redcoats on 
the point of setting fire to the manor.” 

“0 Uncle Barent! please!” entreated Virginia, her 
expression a cross between amusement and distress. 

“Go on. Doctor, go on,” insisted Colonel Culpepper, 
his curiosity piqued by Virginia’s flurried protest. But 
when the story was told he turned with a grave face 
to his god-daughter. 

“Is it true?” he asked, “or is your uncle trying 
to hoax us?” 


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Grave Problems 


205 


afraid I must plead guilty to having been one 
of the ghosts/' said Virginia, with a shivery laugh. 
‘^But I trust I may never have to be one again. Oh, 
it was terrible ! ’ ' 

^‘Terrible! Good Heavens, child!" cried her god- 
father. ^‘Only think what a different ending it might 
have had if the wretches hadn't been such cowards! 
Daniel in the lions' den was in less danger." 

“Well, surely it was the same Presence saved them," 
Colonel Sprague answered for her. “It seems, though, 
almost an insult to the lions to mention the braggarts 
in the same breath," he said in a lighter tone. But 
Colonel Culpepper was wrought up to a pitch that per- 
mitted no jesting. “English soldiers, as a rule, are 
gentlemen," he asserted, “but some of their hired 
allies have proved themselves demons, and the chances 
taken by our little god-daughter and her cousin curdles 
one's blood. 

“There was another," said Virginia demurely, “and 
its timely appearance resulted in the taking of four 
prisoners." Whereupon her god-father requested her 
to give the particulars. 

“Strange that you have never found a clew to the 
mystery," he commented, “since we know it could 
have been nothing supernatural." 

“Yes, as I told them at the time," said Madam Van- 
derbeek, “the fact that it wore boots shattered the ghost 
theory completely." 

“Yet the most mysterious part of it," said Colonel 
Sprague, “is that wearing boots it could come and vanish 
so like a veritable wraith." 


206 


At the Manor 


And when they had exhausted their surmises the talk 
drifted back to the war, for the prospect of an early 
declaration of peace as the outcome of the surrender at 
Yorktown had stirred lively debates during the morning 
concerning the future of the country. It was a theme 
that opened wide vistas and gave wings to the imagina- 
tion. 

‘‘Now that our independence is a certainty/^ said 
Doctor Vanderbeek, “we shall not long be limited to 
thirteen colonies, for the lovers of liberty and justice, 
rich and poor alike, persecuted and down-trodden in 
other lands, will flock hither as soon as the way is 
open.’^ 

“Indeed, they’ll be only too ready to come,” declared 
Colonel Culpepper, laying down knife and fork and 
emphasizing the prediction with an upraised hand. 
“Mark my words, they will fly to us as hawk-hunted 
pigeons fly to covert.” 

“Yes, and hosts of others will be equally ready,” 
predicted Colonel Sprague. “There will be no lack of 
numbers, and while in some respects the increase will 
doubtless be an advantage, this matter of emigration, 
without proper care, is likely to become a serious 
menace to the country — liberty being to many but an- 
other name for license.” 

“Ay, we have already learned that to our sorrow,” 
said Colonel Culpepper. “We want no more criminals 
landed here — at least not until they are reformed.” 

“There are two classes that ought to be barred out,” 
Doctor Vanderbeek argued, “the parasites — those 
willing to take all the benefits of the government with- 


Grave Problems 


207 


out lifting a finger to support it — and those who, like 
Virginia's old giant in the hospital, think that in a 
free country they are free to do as they please without 
regard to law or gospel." 

“Yes, the fewer of such, the better," Colonel Cul- 
pepper agreed, warmly. “We want neither of them. 
It is a vital question, there is no denying that, hut it is 
only one of the many that Congress will have to face. ' ' 

“Ay, there are problems coming up that will tax the 
wisest of our solons," said the doctor. “God grant 
that they may be settled definitely and with due con- 
sideration for the future of the colonies." 

“Amen to that!" responded Colonel Sprague, with 
a hectic flush on either cheek. 

The hostess was quick to read the danger signal, and, 
with ready tact, made a break by propounding a 
conundrum. 

“Your father is talked out and needs a rest," she 
said, aside, to Virginia. “Or at least something easier 
to puzzle over than the weighty subject they have been 
discussing. It's an old one — ^the riddle I've given them 
— and perhaps you know the answer." 

“Oh, pardon me," exclaimed the girl. “I was think- 
ing of something else. 

And while the others were growing merry over the 
guesses, most of which went far afield, she was saying 
to herself that she must try harder than ever to reform 
the giant and teach him what was meant by a “free 
country." 


XXIX 


THE giant’s PS0MISE 

During the following fortnight, Virginia paid a daily 
visit to the patients in the Second Ward,” and as she 
passed from cot to cot, she seemed to them a veritable 
little ‘^sister of mercy.” She even mustered courage 
now and then when, on Sunday, her uncle held a ser- 
vice for them, to start a hymn. It was always some- 
thing simple and familiar, and the old-time words and 
tune carried more than one tired heart back to boyhood 
days, and to the old church that had been the family 
place of worship. 

Madam Culpepper had given her the freedom of the 
library, and, in going over the books one morning she 
came upon a copy of ‘^Pilgrim’s Progress.” 

‘‘Oh, that’s just what I want!” she cried, with the 
feeling that an old friend had come to her help. And 
reading the matchless allegory day after day to the 
men she made them forget for the time their aching 
wounds and the irksomeness of inaction. The giant 
was especially taken with the story of “Giant De- 
spair.” 

“Some folks call me a giant, but there ain’t no dead 
men’s bones layin’ round my den,” he asserted stout- 
ly. “I don’t deny I’ve done some robbin’ now an’ 
agin, but I ain’t got blood on my hands, thank the 
Lord!” 


The Giant’s Promise 


209 

‘^Yes, you may well be thankful for that/^ said Vir- 
ginia, “for robbery often leads to murder/’ 

“Well, little miss, I give you my promise right here 
and now that never agin s’long as I live an’ breathe 
will I rob man, woman, ner — baby. So help me, God 
A ’mighty ! ’ ’ 

Tears were rolling down his face and burying them- 
selves in his rough beard, and Virginia, her own eyes 
moist, had to turn away for a minute. 

“God will help you,” she said, presently. “He al- 
ways helps those that mean what they say when they 
ask Him — ^just as an earthly father helps his children 
when they really want his help — only a thousand times 
better.” 

The room was very quiet — ^^so quiet that the doctor’s 
big silver watch ticking on the table beside her made 
itself heard in the farthest corner — and the other 
patients, lying with closed eyes, seemed to be napping, 
but they had not lost a syllable. 

“Do you believe that. Miss?” asked the one-armed 
veteran, “that God is our father?” 

Virginia looked at him in amazement. 

“Believe it!” she exclaimed. “Why He himself says 
it in His own word: H will be a father to you, and 
ye shall be my sons and daughters.’ Nothing could be 
plainer than that.” 

“Well, I reckon that’s what we all want — somebody 
to be a father to us,” said the man, “An, the older we 
get the more it comes home to us. The biggest an’ 
best of us ain’t much mor’n grown up children, an’ 
when we’re keeled over like this, we begin to feel we 


210 


At the Manor 


want somethin’ — we don’t hardly know what — some- 
thin’ strong and stayin’ to take holt of — an’ I reckon 
it’s God we want.” 

‘‘Yes, it’s God we want,” repeated Virginia. “We 
all want Him and need Him, and He wants us, because 
He knows that without Him we can never be happy, in 
either this world or the next. That is why He came 
down to earth and lived man’s life — to show men how 
He loved them. And yet — they put Him to death on the 
cross — our blessed Lord and Saviour. ’ ’ 

She broke off, with wet lashes, and several of the 
men covered their eyes, as if they, too, felt the tears 
starting. 

“Well, I’d give a good deal to find Him,” said the 
one-armed soldier. “Seems as if I’ve been wanderin’ 
round in the dark long enough.” 

“There is no need of our wandering in the dark,” 
said Virginia, with convincing earnestness. “There is 
always a light shining in God’s windows to show His 
children the way Home. But they don’t follow the 
light. Suppose some one gave you a guide-book and 
told you that if you kept to its directions \ ou would 
find a gold mine. How eagerly you would study it, 
and how careful you would be to go by it in every 
particular; yet, how little we study the Bible, though 
it is God’s guide book to show us the path to Heaven, 
if we lose the way we have no one but ourselves to 
blame.” Then she began to read again, fearing that 
if she kept on talking they would think she was try- 
ing to preach to them. 


The Giant’s Promise 


211 


‘‘I’ll tell Uncle Barent about it,” she said to her- 
self. “He will know better than I how to help them.” 

And, owing to her report of the conversation. Doctor 
Vanderbeek, at the next Sunday service, made God’s 
love to man and man’s need of God the text for a 
tender and convincing little sermon. 

But he took no credit to himself for the eagerness 
with which his hearers devoured his words, for he 
knew that it was old John Bunyan, with Virginia for 
his interpreter, that had made them hungry for the 
Bread of Life. 

“Whereabouts do you live when you’re home, little 
Miss?” asked the giant one morning. “I want to write 
it down so’s I won’t forget it.” 

“At Oak Glade Manor on the Hudson,” said Vir- 
ginia, drawing pencil and note-book from her reticule. 
“I’ll write it for you on this blank leaf.” 

‘ ‘ Oak Glay ! Oak Glay ! ’ ’ repeated the man. ‘ ‘ That ’s 
cur ’us now, but I was to that place once myself. ’Twas 
n’t long after I jined the army. Me an’ some o’ the 
others was sent to the woods one day for some logs 
to buil’ barracks, an’ some way or ’nuther, the rest 
of ’em when we’s through cuttin’, sot off for camp 
’thout me. I wasn’t no ways troubled at fust, but after 
beatin’ roun’ till mos’ mornin’, ’stead o’ cornin’ to the 
camp, I come to a big white house. There wasn’t no- 
body stirrin’, an’ bein’ pretty well tuckered out, says 
I to myself, if I kin jes’ git inside that little buildin* 
lookin’ at me ’cross the buryin’ groun’ maybe I kin 
git a wink or two o’ sleep ’fore the folks is np. The 
door was fastened, but I didn’t have no trouble openin’ 


212 


At the Manor 


it, an^ pokin’ round’ to see if there mightn’t be an ol’ 
horse blanket or somepin’, seein’ the air was kind o’ 
nippy, I come across two big linen sheets, so I wraps 
up in ’em an’ stretched out on the bench for a snooze. 
Well, when I opened my eyes agin, there ’twas sun- 
down, an’ I had n’more’n got to the door to look how 
the land lay when I see some redcoats cornin’ roun’ the 
corner o’ the house. They was marchin’ along ez if 
they thought all Ameriky belonged to ’em, an’ knowin’ 
they was sot on some sort o’ deviltry, out I popped, 
meanin’ to head ’em off, but ’fore I could git near ’em 
they give a howl like they’s struck with lightnin’, and 
down they all went in a heap. What happened to ’em 
I never found out, for the next minute I seen two of 
our officers cornin’, an’ bein’ afraid they’d ’rest me 
for a deserter, I skipped back to my hidin’ place an’ 
stayed there till things quieted down. There was a 
mighty hubbub — I couldn’t tell what about — men’s 
voices an’ horses’ hoofs — so I thought I might as well 
not show myself.” 

‘^Did you keep the sheets around you when you 
first dashed out?” asked Virginia. 

‘‘Why, yes, come to think of it. I s’pose I must ’ave. 
But I didn’t steal ’em. Miss.” 

“No, indeed,” said Virginia, making haste to tell 
him how he had caused the downfall of the redcoats. 
“And they never knew what scared them,” she finished 
with a laugh. 

The giant sat up and chuckled over his unpremedi- 
tated victory. 

“I’m nigher to gittin’ even with you, little Miss,” 


The Giant’s Promise 


213 


he said, when he caught his voice again, ^^than ever I’d 
hoped to be. But you’re goin’ to git your cup an’ 
spoon jus’ the same. Don’t you worry ’bout that.” 

Virginia went to dinner that day with a radiant 
face — she could scarcely wait for the blessing to be 
asked, she was so impatient to put the feather in her 
giant ’s cap. 

The ghost is laid!” she announced; ^‘or, rather, it 
has come to life.” And a buzz of exclamations went 
round the table as the recital progressed. 

^‘But I’ll wager that none of you can guess who 
he is,” said Doctor Yanderbeek. ‘‘Go on, little girl, 
you may as well tell the whole of it now.” 

“Then they must promise to treat him leniently,” 
she stipulated, reluctantly complying. 

“Heaven defend us, child!” cried Madam Cul- 
pepper. “You surely don’t mean to tell us that we 
have been sheltering that villain! I shuddered when 
they brought him in, he looked so huge and savage, and 
if for a moment I had suspected that he was the 
wretch that robbed you it would have gone hard with 
him.” 

“Oh, but that was years and years ago, dear god- 
mother,” pleaded the girl. “He is a very different 
man now. See how nobly he has been fighting for the 
colonies, and he was overjoyed when he found he had 
done us such a service.” 

“Yes,” said Colonel Sprague, “he has squared ac- 
counts with us fairly well, and we’ll forgive him for 
taking your christening gifts.” 

“Oh, but he is going to return them, father, as soon 
as he goes home. He has given me his promise.” 


214 


At the Manor 


‘^Well, that’s consoling news, daughter.” But his 
manner was not as hearty as Virginia could have wished, 
and her face grew troubled. 

“At all events,” said her godfather, patting her 
shoulder comfortingly, “it was no boastless feat he 
achieved.” And at that the troubled look gave way to 
dimples. 

By the end of another week the patients in the 
“Second Ward” had so nearly recovered from their 
wounds that Dr. Vanderbeek pronounced them dis- 
charged, hut they had been so royally treated that 
they were not over eager to return to camp life. Still 
less did they like the thought of being separated from 
their new friends, and most of them contrived to find 
an excuse for lingering. But none of them took the 
parting more to heart than the giant. 

“Maybe you don’t know it, little Miss, hut you’ve 
done me a power o’ good,” he said, standing with 
his knapsack on his shoulder at the hospital door. I’s 
mad as a hornet when they tol’ me I’s that bad hurt 
I’d hev to stay here an’ be doctored, but if it hadn’t 
ben for that I’d have missed findin’ you, so I’m mighty 
glad I come. Myrandy’ll be glad, too, an’ don’t you 
forgit, little Miss, that sure as I git back alive you’re 
goin’ to have your cup an’ spoon agin.” 

“No doubt he means it, poor man,” said Colonel 
Sprague, as they watched the tall gaunt figure go 
swinging down the road, “but I wouldn’t build too much 
on his promise, little daughter. ’ ’ 

The “little daughter” held her peace — ^her faith un- 
shaken. 


XXX 


TWO SELF-APPOINTED CARRIERS 

Though the weather at the south had giv^n no hint of 
winter, at the north the land was snow-bound, and 
Madam Vanderbeek, in dread of the wearisome home 
journey, finally consented to wait until there would be 
no danger of being waylaid by a blizzard, the fact that 
the British were still occupying New York making her 
the more open to persuasion. 

Doctor Vanderbeek, on the dismissal of his patients, 
had returned to his post, but Colonel Sprague, owing 
to his injuries, had been retired, and as he, too, was 
to remain at the Hall for the present, being unable 
yet to travel, Virginia was very well pleased with 
her aunt^s decision. 

“If only Catalyntie were here,^^ she sighed. 

“That would be a joy, deary,’’ said Madam Vender- 
beek, “but, since we might as well cry for the moon, 
I should be content if we could hear from her.” 

And meanwhile, Catalyntie was ardently wishing 
that she could find a way to send them a letter. 
Jeems Jubah and the twins, too, were thinking of the 
absent ones — at least of their Miss Wyginny, and Sis 
Sue — and, having covered several sheets of foolscap 
with their woes, were echoing Catalyntie ’s wish. 

“I’s mos’ a mind to staht down souf myself,” de- 


2i6 


At the Manor 


dared Jeems Jubah in desperation. But an hour later 
Hal and Theodore rode up the driveway, having grown 
impatient to know if any word from Culpepper Hall 
had been received at the manor. 

“No, Ma’sa HawoB, dey has n’ wote an’ we uns dat 
anchous dat we’s jus’ been a witin’ to ’em,” was 
Jeems Jubah ’s answer to Hal’s eager question, “an’ 
now we’s studyin’ how we’s gwine to sen’ de lettahs.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, we ’ll see that they are sent, ’ ’ Hal promised 

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea for one of us to play 
carrier for the family — or both of us, as for that, now 
that there are no more battle calls in prospect,” sug- 
gested Ted, as they sprung to their saddles again. 

“Well, yes, we might,” Harold granted. “But we 
must see first if Catalyntie has had later news. ’ ’ 

Arriving at the village they learned that letters had 
been received from Madam Vanderbeek and Virginia 
a few days before telling of the change in their plans. 

“And I’m selfish enough to be glad,” said Katharine, 
“for if they came back I know they would rob me of 
Catalyntie, and I can’t spare her yet, even though Bob 
is home. Oh, there! We meant to surprise you!” 

“What, Bob home?” cried Harold. “Well, that is a 
surprise. ’ ’ 

“Yes, he has been here a month and is beginning to 
look like himself again,” said Catalyntie. “When he 
first came he was such a skeleton that we didn’t dare 
to let Katharine see him. He is nothing yet to boast 
of — he had so long been starved. 

“Ah, they were treated brutally on those prison 


Two Self-Appointed Carriers 217 

ships/ ^ said Theodore. ^^The wonder is that any of 
them came through alive. 

^‘Roh was most of the time in the old Sugar House/ ^ 
said Catalyntie, ‘‘but those on the ships could scarce- 
ly have fared worse. He can^t speak of it without 
shuddering. I have written to mother and Virginia 
about him, they will be so rejoiced to hear that he is 
back, if I can only find a carrier for my letter. It 
has been waiting now two weeks and over.’' 

“I’ll take charge of it,” said Ted; “Jeems Jubah 
and the twins have just consigned two to Hal’s care, 
and possibly we may undertake to deliver them our- 
selves.” 

“Are you in earnest?” asked Catalyntie. 

“Never more so. We’ve been twice over the road 
— Hal and I — and know every mile of it.” 

“Hello! Here’s Bob himself,” cried Harold. “How 
are you, old fellow?” 

And while they were congratulating him on his 
release from prison and listening to the story of his 
sufferings, Catalyntie slipped away to add a postscript 
to her letter. 

But when she returned she found only Bob and Ted 
in the keeping-room, while Katharine and Hal were 
sitting in the little parlor adjoining it. 

“Yes,” Katharine was saying with a shy laugh, “you 
will have to keep an eye on Catalyntie. Cousin David 
lets scarcely a day pass without coming to see her, 
and last evening a certain young Englishman was here 
until nine o’clock.” 

Cataljmtie had quick ears. 


2i8 


At the Manor 


“Oh, come, come,^^ she chided, her cheeks flushing. 
“She herself is the attraction, Hal. She is just trying 
to hoodwink you.’’ 

“Well, Captain, we must be goin!” called Ted. 

Hal stood up with Katharine’s hand in his. 

“No hoodwinking, Kitty,” he said; “I’d much 
rather know the truth. 

Katherine’s response was so nearly a whisper that 
he had to bend his head to catch it. 

“Coming, Ted,” he answered, lifting a shining face. 

But at this point, Mrs. Brinckerhofl joined them, 
and as it was nearing noon, she insisted on their stay- 
ing to dinner. Consequently, it was long past the 
“noon of night” when they reached camp. 

“It hardly seems worth while to turn in,” said 
Ted, “since we want an early start.” 

“Oh, it will do us good to dream a bit,” answered 
Hal, the sweetness of Katharine’s farewell still hold- 
ing his thoughts in thrall, for, though not a definite 
pledge, it was quite enough for hope to feed on. 

Happily, furloughs were to be had for the asking, 
and the young captain and his lieutenant set off the 
next morning as soon as mess was over. 

The skies were bleak and the condition of the high- 
ways made rough traveling, but they were too well 
inured to harsh weather and bad roads to be daunted 
by them, and the joyous welcome given them when they 
presented themselves at Culpepper Hall repaid them 
ten times over for all the hardships they had en- 
countered on the way 

But the “conquering heroes” when they handed out 


Two Self-Appointed Carriers 219 


th'e letters, had to take back seats and be content to be 
listeners, so impatient were Madam Vanderbeek and 
Virginia to know what Catalyntie had to say. But 
there was a question on Madam Vanderbeek ^s lips 
that would brook no waiting. 

‘‘Do tell us,’’ she begged, “when are the British to 
give up New York? We thought they were to evacuate 
at once.” 

“Ah, we rejoiced too soon,” said Hal. “At the first 
scare, on learning that Cornwiallis had surrendered, ^ 
they began in desperate haste to prepare for flight, but 
finding that they can’t be compelled to go till Eng- 
land signs the treaty, they are making the most of the 
reprieve.” 

At that Madam Vanderbeek ’s face lengthened. 

“I had so hoped,” she lamented, “that we old New 
Yorkers might be in possession of our homes again in 
time for the spring house-cleaning. They must be in 
a shocking condition.” 

And she opened Catalyntie ’s letter with a sigh, in 
which every old-time housekeeper could have sympa- 
thized. 

“Katharine is like another girl,” wrote Catalyntie, 
after giving the particulars of Bob Brinckerhoff ’s re- 
turn. “During the long strain of uncertainty we had 
all we eould do to keep up her hope of ever seeing 
him again, and I am afraid we should have made a very 
sorry failure of it, but for David Newling’s help. There 
was hardly a day that he missed coming in to give her 
the latest news, his regiment having been for several 
months stationed near the village. There is also a 
young Englishman here — a Captain Sinclair — who has 


220 


At the Manor 


been very attentive to her. He belonged to the British 
army, but was wounded not long ago, and falling into 
the hands of a good Samaritan, was so kindly cared for 
that he vows he will never again take sides against the 
colonies. He often joins us in our outings — since the 
redcoats are no longer at large, we do not feel obliged 
to house ourselves — and, then, as a rule, poor David 
has no choice but to walk with me, the captain and 
Katharine are so taken up with each other. Being 
heir prospective to a title, he will, no doubt, return to 
England soon, and for that reason it is to be hoped that 
Katharine will not encourage him. It would be dread- 
ful to have her go to England to live. Still, Katrina 
DePeyster has promised her hand to an Englishman, 
and who do you think it is? Do you remember the 
young soldier whom we met at the Half-Way Oak? I 
was hoping that he would not recognize me, fearing it 
might embarrass him, but he knew me at a glance and 
was not in the least abashed. Failing in his search 
for his comrades that night, and worn out with his 
long tramp, he stopped at the DePeysters’ and threw 
himself on their mercy. They were too kind-hearted to 
send him adrift, and finding him a gentleman, they 
•treated him as one of the family. Well — to make a 
long story short — soon, very naturally, both being 
young, he and Katrina began to be interested in each 
other, and already they are betrothed. On both sides 
it seems like going over to the enemy, but they are not 
to be married until peace is assured, and it is to be 
hoped that after that there will be no enemies on either 
side. I have m'et him several times and am confident 
that he has all the goodness of heart that his face and 


Two Self-Appointed Carriers 221 

manner indicate. He says he never in his life tasted 
anything so toothsome as those seed cakes, and Katrina 
declares that she must have the recipe for them. So, 
mother dear, just bear it in mind, please. 

Jeems Jubah trudged over one day last week in an 
anxious frame of mind to ask if we had heard from 
their ^Miss Wyginny,^ and I was sorry to have to dis- 
appoint him. He reported that there had been no new 
disturbances at the manor, but complained that Hhey 
was dwefful lonesome like,’ and that is not to be won- 
dered at. 

On pleasant Sundays we usually attend church at 
Fishkill, but when it chances to be Domine Rysdyck’s 
day for preaching in Dutch, we are not as much edified 
as we might otherwise be. It is Dutch one Sunday and 
English the next. The church is cold as a barn, but 
with two or three footstoves in the pew we manage to 
keep from freezing. 

One morning, after services, we called at Colonel 
John Brickenhoff’s to see Martha Jane. She has been 
ill with pleurisy and in addition to having been cupped 
and bled till she is as white as a sheet, she has had a 
dozen leeches applied. It makes one crawl to think 
of those slimy creatures sucking one’s blood. 

The colonel is a staunch patriot, but when General 
Washington proposed making headquarters with him 
for a time, he informed him that he was commander 
in chief in his own house and wanted every one under 
his roof to attend family prayers — a request with which 
the general readily complied, for he is a very devout 
man — our Washington. In both Fishkill and New- 


222 


At the Manor 


burgh, there are several houses that have been oc- 
cupied for longer or shorter periods by him and his 
officers — the Van Wycks’, the Tellers’, the Yerplancks’, 
and the Whartons’, being of the number — and the fam- 
ilies are tremendously proud of it. ‘It will give them 
a place in history,’ Mrs. Van Wyck says, and I felt 
quite elated in being able to tell her that the manor 
had been honored in the same way. Like ourselves, 
she is hoping soon to return to town — now that the 
war is over. 

Cousin Cornelia Schuyler with her baby and nurse 
came to see us a few days ago. Her house — ^like that of 
many another less fortunate than ourselves — was burned 
to the ground by Wallace’s men and she is making her 
home with her mother. The baby is very winsome. 
Its grandmother has given it a silver cup and a coral 
necklace, both of which were brought from Holland a 
century ago, and Cornelia prizes them next to the 
family Bible. I hope they will never go the way of 
Virginia’s first treasures. I should think that man 
would feel so small and mean that he would never 
want to look a baby in the face again. 

Our old friend Mr. Kent is home again after having 
been kept a prisoner all this time in England. Think of 
it ! Domine Kysdyck has been making a trip up the Hud- 
son and he says it is heart-rending to see the havoc 
wrought by the enemy in all the dear old river towns. At 
Khinebeck some of the cannon balls fired from the Brit- 
ish gun-boats landed in Mr. Kip ’s grounds, and Mr. Kip 
says he intends to keep them as heirlooms for his chil- 
dren. 


Two Self-Appointed Carriers 223 

Katharine and I are reading ‘Easselas.’ It is a 
wonderful book. It almost makes one envy the dwell- 
ers in that ‘Happy Valley.^ Still, the happiest valley 
in the world could not satisfy us long unless the people 
in it — even if they were princes and princesses — were 
our very own, I am convinced of that. I enjoy being 
with the friends here, and it is pleasant to feel that 
I may have been a little comfort to Katharine, but I 
have to confess that some times I grow so hungry for 
the dear home faces and mother’s good-night kiss that 
I find my pillow a bit moist.” 

“How surprised she will be to hear about the giant,’' 
said Virginia, as Madam Yanderbeek finished the last 
of the love messages with which the postscript ended. 

“If Katharine knew what she has been writing,” 
said Hal, stiffly, “I’m thinking she’d enter a protest 
in short order, for I doubt if there’s an Englishman 
living that could win her — ^least of all, one that has 
been fighting against the colonies — and as for David 
Newling, he has eyes for no one but Catalyntie.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, ho ! ” cried Virginia, with a laugh. ‘ ‘ What have 
you to say to that, Ted?” 

“Only that David is a capital fellow,” answered Ted 
heartily, “and that he will have a prize if he succeeds 
in winning Catalyntie.” 

“Thank you, Theodore,” said Madam Yanderbeek, 
regarding him with doubtful eyes, “Catalyntie is a 
dear daughter, and I trust she will make the man that 
gets her a good wife. As for Katharine, she is not 
one to barter herself for a title. When she gives her 
hand her heart will go with it. ’ ’ 


224 


At the Manor 


‘^Aunt Evelina, allow me to compliment yon on 
your ability as a reader of character, ’ ' said Hal, with a 
hearty kiss. ‘‘And now, let’s hear the other letters.” 

“Only one is for me,” said Virginia, “and it is in 
the twins’ handwriting.” 

“On’ dea’ Miss Wyginny Feedoshy, 

“Dis ’pistol am to say dat we uns wants to no wen 
yo’ uns is cornin’ horn, kaze we’s dat lonesom dat we’s 
mos’ a mind to stat fo’ de souf to fin’ yo, ony we uns 
done promise to stay an’ ’tect de famhly, an’ dat am 
all wat’s keepin’ us. 01’ Peppah, he’m gwevin’ his- 
self to d'ef in his kinil, an’ Miss Sahiny she’m allays 
goin’ ’bout lookin’ like she’m spectin’ bad noos, an’ 
dat keeps we uns feelin’ mighty down in de mouf. 
Mis Jason, she’m got de woematics, an’ Mammy An 
can’t make no mo’ scamble eggs kaze de hens hab don 
stop layin’. Seems like dey doesn’ nuffin’ go wite 
when yo ’uns is’n heah to see to ’em. Buvah Jeems 
Jubah he’m witin’ to Sis Sue, but he ain’t got no noos 
to tell heh ’cep we’s all hopin’ yo uns will be cornin’ 
home wiv de firs’ peepin’ o’ de fwogs. Hat’s all we’s 
got to say, cep’ we sen ou’ mos’ specful lub. 

“Yo’s twuly, Cicewo an’ Cato.” 

“What a dismal wail!” commented Hal. 

“Yes, but what faithful souls they are — Jeems Jubah 
and the twins,” said Theodore. “They are worth their 
weight in gold.” 

“Ah, they are worth far more than that,” said Colo- 
nel Sprague, who, limping in, had been listening to the 
letters with lively interest. “They are worth their 


Two Self-Appointed Carriers 225 


freedom, and the war once over, we’ll have no more 
slaves at Oak Glade Manor. Indeed, it is to be hoped 
that slavery will soon come to an end throughout the 
colonies. The blacks have done bravely in the war, 
and having shed their blood to help us win our free- 
dom, they are entitled to their own. Slavery was 
practically forced on us in the beginning and we had 
to make the best of it, but in a republic, where all men 
are declared free and equal, it has neither law nor 
logic to support it.” 

Midway in the last sentence Colonel Culpepper 
joined them. ‘‘We are well aware of that,” he said, 
“but as things are at present, here at the south at 
least, it is hard to see how a change is to be brought 
about, for without our slaves it would be impossible to 
go on raising rice and cotton.” 

“Let them work as free men and pay them their 
wages,” urged Colonel Sprague. “In the end the 
planters will be the gainers.” 

Madam Culpepper entered at the moment with her 
hands filled with fiowers fresh from the garden and 
the northerners’ exclamations of delight ended the dis- 


cussion. 


XXXI 


A THIRD GUEST 

When a week had passed the young letter carriers, 
with no plausible excuse for lengthening their stay, 
began to speak of going. But southern hospitality is 
limitless and the motion was instantly vetoed by the 
Colonel and Madam Culpepper in a way that made 
them feel that they were conferring a favor by re- 
maining. 

“Why didn’t Richard come with you?” asked their 
hostess. 

“Simply because he always puts duty before pleas- 
ure,” answered Ted. And for this generous tribute, 
Virginia rewarded him with her brightest smile. 

Scarcely, however, had the week grown to a fort- 
night, when Richard joined them. Having occasion 
to go to Baltimore, he explained, he felt it a duty — 
a duty by no means irksome — ^to pay his respects to 
his god-parents. 

“You are exceedingly kind, Dick, to put yourself 
so out of the way on our account,” said the old colo- 
nel, tightening his grip on the young colonel’s hand. 
“We appreciate it, I assure you.” 

To the others, this salutation seemed very gracious 
and cordial, but Dick detected beneath its suavity a 
latent waggishness, for the twinkle in the keen gray 


A Third Guest 


227 

eyes told him that his uncle was a bit suspicious of the 
motive that had drawn him south just then. 

T^d, too, had his suspicions, and the rosy blush that 
accompanied Virginia’s curtsied greeting helped to 
confirm them. But he was not one to be easily dis- 
heartened. By and by this gallant knight would go 
his way and he who had loved her all his life would 
he the wdnner. He could afford to bide his time. 

But Richard had a magnetic presence, and while 
under its spell, Virginia seldom remembered that Theo- 
dore was in existence. Then, too, his superior years 
made Ted seem a mere boy in comparison, and much 
as she liked Ted for a comrade, she found in Richard’s 
friendship an 'element that seemed to be lacking in 
that of her old playmate, though it would have been a 
hard matter for her to define the difference. 

Happily, however, for Ted, Dick’s stay was short. 

Virginia was disappointed. She had hoped he would 
stay until her father and Madam Vanderbeek were 
ready to undertake the journey, and for a day or two, 
she went about with a pensive face. 

trust she is not thinking of Dick too seriously, 
mother,” said Colonel Culpepper, tapping his snuff- 
box with a hesitant finger. ‘^He is a fine fellow and 
true as steel to his friends — I’d like nothing better than 
to see him win her — but I’ve a sneaking notion that he 
may be more or less migratory in his fancies, so far as 
pretty maids are concerned. Eh, mother?” 

“Possibly you are right, my dear,” Madam Cul- 
pepper granted, “but I have never seen anything in 
Richard to warrant that impression. He has such a 


228 


At the Manor 


taking way — ^just as Ms godfather had before him — 
she bracketed, with a smile, ^^that a girl might easily 
become fascinated with him when there was no inten- 
tion whatever on his part of influencing her, and it 
troubles me to think that uur little god-daughter may 
have persuaded herself that he is her prince, girls are 
so prone to idealize the wrong man — or, at least, one 
that has gone a-wooing elsewhere, and that, I’m afraid, 
is what Dick has done.” 

Harold and Theodore had proposed returning with 
him, but Colonel Sprague thought it wiser for them 
to wait. 

“We must all be going as soon as the March winds 
are over,” he said, “that is, if we can secure a suffi- 
cient bodyguard.” And when shortly afterward, he 
learned that some of his own regiment who had been 
with General Greene were expecting to start for the 
north early in April, he decided that it was too good an 
opportunity to miss, though Madam Culpepper and the 
colonel urged their staying a month longer. 

“It might be a brace of months before we’d find 
another chance like it,” he said, “and if the delay,” 
he added, banteringly, “should cheat us out of seeing 
the British evacuate New York, Evelina, I’m afraid, 
would have a rod in pickle — for somebody.” 

“Indeed I would,” retorted Madam Vanderbeek, 
“and we are not likely to have much time to spare 
as it is, if the latest reports are to be trusted.” 

“As soon as our silversmiths begin to work,” said 
Colonel Culpepper, when the parting came, “our little 
god-daughter shall have her christening gifts dupli- 
cated.” 


A Third Guest 


229 

“Oh, thank your* cried the girl, “but — ^you for- 
get that the others are to come back to me/' 

“So you are still trusting that highwayman's word !" 
deplored her god-mother. “I'm afraid you will go 
many a day without your cup and spoon if you de- 
pend on that." 

“Time will tell," said Virginia, cheerfully. “You 
are very kind, but the new ones would never be quite 
the same to me as those you gave me at my christen- 
ing." 

“Ah, well, child, keep on believing," said Madam 
Culpepper, with a final embrace. “But remember, 
should your giant fail you, our promise will hold 
good." 


XXXII 


A wayside: happening 

In spite of Richard absence, Virginia found the 
home-going in the bright spring weather another prog- 
ress of delight; the war was ended, -and with her 
father beside her in the MarshaH’s comfortable old 
coach, she was so brimful of happiness that there was 
no room for regrets, except for the grim reminder 
leaning against his knee — the one dear knee left for her 
to perch on — that she could never cease regretting. 

On the outskirts of Philadelphia, the soldiers stopped 
for a day’s rest, and Madam Vanderbeek felt it her 
duty to call on the Quaker cousins and thank them for 
the loan of the carriage. “It will be hard to go back 
to an army wagon,” she sighed, “but we have kept 
them out of the use of it too long already,” 

The cousins, however, insisted on their keeping it 
for the remainder of the journey. 

“Even if thee and Virginia could do without it, 
Evelina, Friend Sprague would need it,” said John Mar- 
shall. “It is still too soon to make a definite promise,” 
he went on, “but when Friend Franklin and the rest of 
our commissioners across the water succeed in having the 
treaty signed, the country will doubtless settle back to 
its good old ways, and with the stage coaches running 
again, Isabella and I may venture to journey to New 
York and relieve thee of the carriage.” 


A Wayside Happening 231 

‘‘Oh, the word from Paris will surely be received by 
the time we reach home,'' said Madam Vanderbeek, 
“and you can count on our soon being ready to claim 
the visit." 

Very few flowers were out as yet in the northern 
woods, but through the mats of gray moss and pine 
needles, the arbutus was thrusting its rose-tinted petals, 
and from time to tim'e Harold and Theodore showered 
the occupants of the carriage with the trailing clus- 
ters. 

“Why can't we help hunt for it, Aunt Evelina?" 
urged Virginia. “There is nothing like it for sur- 
prises. Often the loveliest bunches lie there laughing 
at you when you least expeot to find them, and when 
you once get hold of a spray, you never know how 
many more it will lead to." 

“I'm quite willing to take your word for it, my 
child," said Madam Vanderbeek. “If it grew on trees 
and trellises like clematis and hanging-moss, I might be 
persuaded to go with you — as it is, I prefer some less 
back-breaking diversion." 

By that time Virginia was out of the carriage. 

“Tell the boys to keep you in sight," charged Colonel 
Sprague, declaring that but for his lost leg, he would 
gladly have gone with her. 

“Oh, we'll take good care of her," guaranteed Ted, 
already at her side. 

Only those familiar with the fascination of wander- 
ing along the woods' edge, in search of the earliest 
and sweetest of spring's treasures, can understand the 
eagerness with which the young hands lifted the 


232 


At the Manor 


mossy coverings that all winter had sheltered the 
embryo buds. 

“Hark said Harold, as an outburst of delight from 
Virginia announced a fresh find; “there’s a robin 
calling ! That means that there ’s a house with human 
beings in it somewhere near and, doubtless, an 
orchard.” 

“If there’s a house there must be a well,” reasoned 
Virginia, “and I am longing for a drink.” 

“Wait here while I see how the land lies,” said 
Harold, whistling an answer to the robin’s call. 

“Eh! Look at this!” cried Ted, holding up a strand 
of arbutus studded with pink and white constella- 
tions. 

“Oh, how delicious!” and Virginia, going down on 
her knees, buried her face in the woodsy fragrance. 

Just below them lay a little pond, dusky beneath the 
banks with the shadows of thick-growing saplings and 
underbrush, but glowing like a sapphire in the center 
where a bit of blue sky between the tree-tops mirrored 
itself. 

Suddenly Virginia sprung to her feet and caught 
Theodore by the arm. 

“A snake!” she breathed. “I could see its beady 
eyes and mottled skin. Be careful, Ted, be careful ! It 
may be an adder.” 

At that instant there was a stir in the mass of brown 
leaves that Ted had pushed aside and something green- 
ish-yellow splashed into the water. 

“Oh, what was that?” she cried, with another shud- 
der. 






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I 



A Wayside Happening 


233 


There, there, sweetheart! Don't be frightened," 
said Ted, trying in vain to keep a sober face. “It was 
only a — a — big bull-frog." 

“Theodore! Now you're laughing at me." 

“Indeed, I'm not, by any means. I don't wonder you 
were startled, with the slimy creature so close to you, 
sweetheart." 

Virginia drew away from him, bridling. 

“Ted, you've no right to call me that," she pro- 
tested. 

“Why, it's what I always called you — before the 
war — sweetheart. ' ' 

“Oh, but then we were children." 

“I would I were a child again." And Ted folded 
his arms and looked down on her with an expression at 
once serious and merry. 

“And forego your epaulets?" she mocked, her mood 
softening. 

“I'd forego everything but honor, sweetheart, for 
the winning of your love," he said gravely. 

Something in his voice — ^the kind, true voice that 
had so often comforted her — made her heart reproach 
her. 

“Ted, dear, you know I love you," she cried, im- 
pulsively. “Haven't we been friends all our days? 
And didn't you save father's life at the risk of your 
own? Of course I love you, dear, and shall as long 
as I live. But people can love each other, Ted, with- 
out being — ^sweethearts, I hope." 

“Anything wrong?" asked Hal breaking through the 
bushes with both hands full of pink festoons. 


234 


At the Manor 


laughed Virginia; ^‘I’ve been scared half out 
of my wits, and by nothing but a — bull-frog ! ^ ’ 

‘‘Oho! A little ’fraid cat still?” rallied Hal; “well, 
if you want a drink of ice-cold water, come along.” 
And he led the way to a low-roofed rambling old farm- 
house that a fortnight later would be half hidden with 
the foliage of the overtowering trees. Beside the gate 
were tall lilac bushes with leaves just starting, and in 
a pink-budded apple tree near the stoop the robin was 
still piping. 

But the well with its long sweep and high wooden 
curb was the first attraction, and Virginia and Ted 
waited thirstily until Harold lowered the “moss-cov- 
ered bucket” and brought it up again from the clear 
depths dripping with diamonds. 

On a peg above the spout hung a gourd dipper, but 
before they could utilize it, a boy ran from the house 
carrying two delft- ware mugs that matched in color his 
keen young eyes, and handing them to Virginia, he said 
bashfully that his mother thought they’d like them 
better than the gourd. 

As they gave them back to the little fellow — having 
slaked their thirst with no fear of germs or microbes 
to lessen their satisfaction — a woman came to the door. 

“’Tain’t often folks find their way in here,” she 
said in response to their thanks, “an’ the most that 
does, we ain’t overglad to see. We saw enough o’ 
their kind when we’s livin’ up the river. If it hadn’t 
been for our old friend Capt’n Simpson happenin’ 
along as he did one mornin’, they’d have been the death 
of my man. That was when Danny was a baby. 


A Wayside Happening 


235, 


’Nother time tbey tried to burn the house over our 
heads. So after that we moved out here to mother’s, 
and husband went to the war. He couldn’t stan’ it, 
he said, not to have a hand in helpin’ to save his 
country from such lawless brutes.” 

^ ‘ Then it was your husband that the redcoats tied to 
a tree?” cried Virginia. “Wasn’t his name Mason?” 

“Yes, that’s his name, Miss, an’ Capt’n Simpson 
an’ his men caught the rascals an’ sent ’em down to 
York.” 

“Oh, I remember all about it,” 'exclaimed the girl. 
And the woman listened breathlessly as she told how 
she and Catalyntie had chanced to discover the red- 
coats that eventful morning. 

“Well, the war’s over at last,” said Mrs. Mason, 
“an’ we’ve a good deal to be thankful for. Still, I’m 
’fraid there’s more trouble brewin’, judgin’ from the 
way I heard some men talkin’ t’other evenin’. I’d 
gone down to the pond to see if there was any fish — 
sometimes in the spring they come up the little run- 
let — an’ of a sudden I heard voices behind the bushes. 
‘We’ll have him yet,’ they boasted. ‘He’s boun’ to 
make headquarters somewheres up the river till we git 
out 0’ Noo York, an’ some fine day we’ll nab him,’ an’ 
I knew they’s plannin’ to take our Gen’al Washin’- 
ton.” 

“Oh, it is too late now for any such threat as that, 
to be carried out,” Virginia assured her. Yet, as they 
made their way back to the carriage, her confidence 
began to waver. 

“What if they should attempt it?” she asked. 


At the Manor 


236 

‘^Nonsense!” scoffed Hal. ^‘It’s like the bluster of 
whipped school boys, at this stage of affairs/^ 

“That^s true,’’ said Ted; ‘'still we shall not feel sure 
of his safety till the last of the British and their allies 
have been banished from the country — or converted 
into friends.” 


XXXIII 


‘‘look! the flag!^’ 

And now, with the feeling that they were nearing 
home, they began to count the miles. 

“It’s too bad we’ve not been able to send Catalyntie 
word,” lamented Virginia. 

“Oh, it will be pleasant to surprise her,” said 
Madam Vanderbeek, though at heart she was not less 
sorry than Virginia that they were to arrive unan- 
nounced, as it would keep Catalyntie from being at the 
manor to welcome them. 

“Surprises are all very well at times,” Virginia 
conceeded, “but they cheat one of the pleasure of antici- 
pation, and that’s half the joy of having pleasant things 
happen.” 

“WeU, it’s a joy out of which England has no in- 
tention of cheating the colonies evidently from the 
length of time it is taking her to sign the treaty of 
peace,” remarked Harold. “But, my dear girl, if you 
want so much to let Catalyntie know that you are on 
the way home, I’ll very gladly be your amnt-coureur/* 

“And I’d offer to go with him if I were sure of 
finding Grandma Schenck at her home,” said Theo- 
dore, but with not quite the eagerness that Harold 
had shown. 

“Don’t let that uncertainty keep you,” urged Hal. 


At the Manor 


238 

she hasn^t returned you have only to go hack 
with me to the manor/’ 

^ ‘Being merely a lieutenant, I suppose I must yield 
obedience to my superior,” said Ted, with a lurking 
hope that Virginia would contradict him. 

“Oh, go, by all means,” she advised. “That will be 
much better than having him go alone. And don’t fail 
to have Catalyntie there on time, and Katharine, too, 
if she’ll come. If you start at once you ought to be 
there tomorrow noon — ^unless you dally by the way.” 

“Oh, there’ll be no grass growing under our feet,” 
said Harold. And waiting only for a snack, they rode 
away — Ted wearing a somewhat in-duty-bound expres- 
sion, but Hal, with the look of one bent on an errand 
to his liking. 

Three hours later, arriving at Camp Carroll, they 
halted to report to the colonel, and Harold promptly in- 
formed him of the approach of the rest of the party. 

“That seemed hardly necessary,” Ted grumbled, as 
they spurred on. “They had planned to spend the 
night at MacGregor’s Inn, but now, of course, Dick 
will ride with all speed to intercept them.” 

“And why not?” asked Hal, obtusely. “He will 
naturally be eager to have the latest tidings from his 
friends at Culpepper Hall.” 

“Ay, and to pose again as lover to their little god- 
daughter.” 

“Let me look at your eyes, Ted,” said Harold, 
leaning from the saddle with mock gravity. “It strikes 
me that they are changing color.” 

But Theodore galloped ahead, and before Hal over- 


took him, his better self had the upper hand once 
more. 

Yet he was right in his prediction. Richard with 
his body-guard went poste-haste to meet the carriage, 
and for the remainder of the afternoon, Virginia was 
in that “Happy Valley” where a maiden wanders en- 
tranced when she imagines that she has found her 
prince. 

MacGregor Inn was only four miles beyond Camp 
Carroll, but night was closing in and Richard, urging 
that it was unwise to be journeying after dark, hast- 
ened to put the best of his barracks at their service. 

“We had them prepared for the commander in chief 
and General Lafayette,” he said, “but we have just 
had word that they have been detained at Newark, and 
I’ll feel honored to have you occupy them.” 

“That’s very kindly worded, but you can’t make us 
believe that you are not disappointed,” said Virginia, 
with a sense of personal loss in the detention of the 
generals. “Why, I’d gladly sit up all night for the 
sake of shaking hands again with General Washington 
or to have the honor of being presented to the mar- 
quis — they are both so brave, so noble. What would 
the colonies have done without them?” 

“Ay,” said Dick, smiling, at her enthusiasm, yet fully 
in sympathy with it — “Washington has proved him- 
self the man chosen of God to bring the colonies 
through the Red Sea of war, and the marquis has been 
his staunch helper. They merit all the love and admira- 
tion you can give them, and I’m sorry for your sake 
that they are not here.” 


240 


At the Manor 


The next morning, however, shortly before the travel- 
ers were ready to start, the two generals rode into 
camp. They were bound for Newburgh, and finding 
that the others were returning to the manor, General 
Washington, to Virginia’s joy, proposed their keeping 
together, saying that it would not only be far more 
enjoyable for the marquis and himself, but would save 
their taking an additional escort. 

‘‘I’m half envious of them,” said Richard, lingering 
at the carriage door. “If I were not needed here just 
now — ^well, some day I may join the general at New- 
burgh, and from there it is not a far pilgrimage to 
Oak Glade.” 

“Oh, if you are with him at Newburgh,” Virginia 
exclaimed — her rapture at the prospect of his being so 
near a neighbor, overshadowed for the moment by her 
anxiety for the commander in chief, “you must see 
that he is at all times carefully guarded.” But when 
she reported the threat that the mistress of the house 
in the woods had overheard, the young colonel, like 
Harold, was inclined to pronounce it merely a bit of 
boasting. 

“Possibly some such scheme may have been concoct- 
ed,” he admitted, “but at this stage of affairs, I doubt 
if any of them would have the hardihood to attempt 
to carry it through.” 

Traveling leisurely to spare the jaded horsies, they 
were two days on the road, and before they reached 
Oak Glade, Colonel Sprague had persuaded General 
Washington and the young marquis to tarry at the 
manor for the night. Whereupon, Virginia, with 


housewifely solicitude, began to wonder what might he 
the condition of the guest-rooms. 

^‘If Catalyntie is there, you may be sure she will 
have everything in readiness for us,^’ said Madam 
Vanderbeek. 

As they entered the drive, a flutter of color against 
the sky brought Virginia to her feet. 

‘‘Look! look!’’ she cried, for on a slender staff, 
high above the roof-treie, floated the banner that she 
and Catalyntie had evolved from their attic treasures. 

Then the soldiers sighted it, and instantly a shout 
went up. 

“Ay, cheer, lads, cheer!” cried Gpeneral Washing- 
ton, waving his hat; “cheer for our country’s flag with 
its thirteen stars. May its glory never be dimmed. ’ ’ 

And the shouts went up again with a fervor that 
started Virginia’s tears. 

“Ah, that was worth waiting for,” she said. And 
before she could dry her cheeks, Catalyntie and Kath- 
arine were smothering her with kisses. 

“Save one or two for me, please,” beggied Madam 
Vanderbeek, outdone by Virginia’s impatient feet. 

“Oh, there are bushels, mother dear, for you,” de- 
clared Catalyntie, throwing herself into the waiting 
arms, “and for Uncle Henry, too.” 

But suddenly she caught sight of the crutch. 

“Oh,” she grieved, clinging to his arm, “Oh, Uncle 
Henry !” 

“Come, come, deary,” he chided, stroking her hair; 
“don’t waste tears over that lost leg. Rather give 
thanks that both were not taken. There’s many a 


242 


At the Manor 


one of our soldiers in a far worse plight than I today. 
Dry your eyes, little woman, for here come our guests 
and you don^t want to give them a tearful greeting. 

But Catalyntie turned away quite unable for once 
to calm herself. 

“0 Virginia,” she moaned, ‘^how cruel war is! God 
grant we may never have another.” And with her eyes 
again overflowing, she found herself face to face with 
General Washington. 

‘‘We can all say amen to that, my child,” he said, 
taking her hand in both of his. ‘ ‘ God forbid that there 
should ever be another!” 

Then Harold and Theodore pressed forward to salute 
him, and while Catalyntie slipped to her uncle’s side 
again, the little mistress of the manor, glad of the chance, 
hastened to the kitchen to see Mammy Ann and learn 
what preparations were under way for supper. 


XXXIV 


A MIDNIGHT CONFESSION 

After supper the household gathered in the keeping- 
room for prayers, and General Washington was asked 
to lead the service. 

On the table lay the family Bible, and opening it he 
read, ‘‘Oh, give thanks unto the Lord; call upon His 
name; make known His deeds among the people 

The prayer that followed the psalm was that of one 
used to talking face to face with God, of one that had 
kept “Lone watches on the tented field,’' crying to 
Heaven for help for his country, and that gave to God 
all the glory of the victory. 

When they rose from their knees he took up the 
Bible again, and for more than an hour it absorbed the 
conversation, for in all the “first families” through- 
out the colonies it was given the place of honor in the 
home as the Book of books, and men read it and loved 
it and lived it and faced death without fear in the 
strength of its promises. 

“It is the very corner-stone of our young repubHe,” 
said the commander in chief, “and if the day ever 
comes when we shall cease to heed its teachings, the 
whole structure will fall to pieces. The Bible in the 
home, the Bible in the pulpit, the Bible in the schools — 
let us build on that and we shall be invincible, a nation 


244 


At the Manor 


whose God is the Lord, and the gates of hell shall not 
prevail against us/' 

‘‘Would God that France could see her danger," 
said General Lafayette. “Her infidel writers are fast 
undermining her faith." 

“Alas! it is not confined to France," lamented Colo- 
nel Sprague. “Germany is in equal danger, and in the 
colonies, too, unbelief is fast gaining ground — some 
of our new philosophers have gone so far astray from 
the faith of their fathers." And the tendency of the 
times towards atheism was discussed with grave fore- 
bodings. 

“When a nation begins to forget God," said General 
Washington, “it is time for her to look for the hand- 
writing on the wall. ' ' 

That night, both the guest-chambers being occupied,. 
Catalyntie and Katharine shared Virginia's room, while 
Madam Vanderbeek slept in an alcove adjoining it, 
and before the door was fairly shut, the girls began to 
chatter. Downstairs, they had been content to be 
silent, but edifying, as they had found the grave dis- 
course of their elders, they were not sorry to be at last 
by themselves, and it was past midnight before the 
interchance of confidences ended. 

“And how about David?" inquired Virginia. 

“Oh, as devoted as ever to Katherine," said Cata- 
lyntie, demurely, “except when a certain young Eng- 
lishman crowds him out." 

“Oh, for shame!" cried Katharine from her couch 
at the other side of the room, “to speak in that way 
of David ! Cousins are not supposed to be lovers. Be- 


A Midnight Confession 245 

sides, it is only when the young Englishman monopo- 
lizes Catalyntie that he says boo to me/^ 

“Well, the young Englishman is very good com- 
pany,’’ said Catalyntie, edging away from any further 
mention of David. “I’m sure you will like him, Vir- 
ginia. What a blessed thing it is that the war is over 
and that England and America can again be friends.” 

“Ye-es,” Virginia answered drowsily, “but when it 
comes to marrying, I think I’d prefer — an American.” 

“Young women,” called Madam Vanderbeek from 
her curtained niche, “you are losing your beauty sleep. 
If you are wise you will do no more talking till to- 
morrow.” 

“Oh, it’s too bad, girls. We are keeping her awake,” 
said Katharine. 

But Catalyntie slid out of bed and tip- toeing across 
the room, vanished behind the screen. 

“Momsy, dear, I couldn’t wait another minute to 
tell you,” she murmured, nestling her head on her 
mother’s pillow. 

“To tell me — what, deary?” 

“That David has asked me to be his wife.” 

“David?” 

The moonlight from an opposite window made a 
halo about the golden head, but it was not the light 
of the moon that illuminated the fair young face. 

“This is very unexpected, daughter,” said Madam 
Vanderbeek, her voice trembling. 

Then for the space of a minute she held her close to 
her heart. 

“It will be hard to give you up, darling,” she fal- 


At the Manor 


246 

tered, “but — ^David is one to be trusted, and it is God’s 
will that the young should wed.” 

Again she folded her in her arms. 

“Marriage is a sacrament, deary,” she went on ten- 
derly. “And, remember, it is for all time, or until 
death shall part you. Once wedded there is no going 
back. Is the love strong enough for that?” 

“For all time and all eternity, mother dear,” said 
the girl, lifting her head with reverent confidence. 

Katharine and Virginia waited in troubled silence 
till the white-robed figure re-appeared. 

“I hope we didn’t disturb her,” said Virginia in a 
troubled whisper. 

“No, neither of you,” Catalyntie assured them. “It 
was I that disturbed her — I and — David.” 

Virginia started up. 

“Catalyntie Vanderbeek!” she cried, catching her 
by the shoulder, “I do believe — Oh, you sly puss! And 
you never told us a word about it ! ” 

“I — I hardly knew it myself until a week ago,” pro- 
tested Catalyntie softly. 

“I knew it months ago,” exulted Katharine. 

“When is the wedding to be?” Virginia demanded. 

“Not until peace is declared. And now stop talking, 
and go to sleep, for I don’t mean to answer another 
question. ’ ’ 

“Well, we shall have to begin preparations without 
delay,” Virginia went on, heedless of the injunction, 
“for news of the declaration of peace may come to- 
morrow. What are you going to wear?” 

Catalyntie, however, had spoken her final word for 


A Midnight Confession 247 

the night. And presently they were all in dream- 
land. 

But in the moon-lighted alcove Madam Vanderbeek 
lay with wakeful eyes, trying to reconcile herself to 
this unexpected dispensation of Providence that was to 
rob her home of its dearest treasure. 

‘^And it was not Theodore, after all,^’ she sighed. 

The next afternoon, the young folk, out for a stroll, 
were joined by Captain Sinclair, and Virginia, to whom 
he at once devoted himself, found him so pleasant a 
comrade that she was quite content to let the others 
drift away. 

A little later David Newling overtook them. The 
young Englishman was still at Virginians side, and, 
Harold having carried off Katharine to help him search 
for arbutus, David eagerly fell into step with Cata- 
lyntie, leaving Theodore to himself. 

But Theodore wore a cheerful face and his thoughts 
were equally cheerful. If Virginia could so easily be- 
come absorbed in this stranger her liking for Richard 
Carroll need give him no uneasiness. And, comforted 
with this conviction, he harbored no ill-will toward the 
converted enemy. 


XXXV 


LADY WASHINGTON 

Though the war was practically ended, England's 
prolonged haggling over the terms of the treaty made 
it impossible for the army to disband, but during this 
tedious waiting unrestricted furloughs were granted 
and Harold and Theodore were frequently at Oak 
Glade for a week at a time. Doctor Vanderbeek, too, 
came often, and, now and again, General Washington, 
with some of the members of his staff, the seclusion of 
the home affording opportunities for a freer compar- 
ison of opinions on the tangled affairs of the country 
than would have been either possible or wise in less 
retired surroundings. The spacious keeping-room, 
where the great logs crackled cheerily on the hearth, was 
usually the rallying place on these occasions, and Vir- 
ginia and Cataljmtie, seated with their knitting work 
beside Madam Vanderbeek, listened to many anxious 
discussions. 

‘‘Did you hear, Catalyntie, what the general was 
saying about our soldiers T’ asked Virginia one even- 
ing, after one of these conferences. “Though Robert 
Morris and other once wealthy patriots have impov- 
erished themselves to aid the cause, the national treas- 
ury is empty, he says, and the men that have been so 
bravely fighting our battles all these years must be 


Lady Washington 


249 


discharged without a penny of pay, though many oP 
them lack the means to take them to their homes. He 
seems almost heartbroken over it.’’ 

‘^Yes, he is sorely distressed,” said Catalyntie. ^'Oh, 
if we were only rich.” 

‘ ‘ And what then ? ’ ’ questioned Miss Sabrina, primly, 
feeling that they were exercising themselves in matters 
too weighty for the feminine mind. ^‘Surely these mo- 
mentous questions can be settled by the government 
without any intervention of ours.” 

“But we are the government. Miss Sabrina,” Vir- 
ginia asserted, with marked emphasis on the pronoun. 
“Father says that now every American citizen is a 
part of the government and that each one ought to 
do his share toward supporting it.” 

Their pin money, of Late, had been reduced to the 
merest pittance, and every penny was being carefully 
hoarded in view of the approaching wedding, for it 
was long since either of them had indulged in a new 
frock or even a yard of ribbon, but the soldiers’ needs 
made their own seem insignificant. 

“I’d rather be married in homespun,” Catalyntie as- 
serted as she added the contents of her beaded purse to 
Virginia’s contribution, “than feel that the price of my 
finery might have helped some poor fellow to return to 
his family. I only wish it were ten times as much.” 

“Yes, the best we can do is a mere drop,” lamented 
Virginia, “but every drop tells in the filling of the 
bucket. ’ ’ 

“God bless the little maids,” said the commander in 
chief, when he read the gentle message that accom- 


250 


At the Manor 


panied the offering, one of his rare smiles breaking 
over his face. ‘‘If everyone were equally ready to lend 
a helping hand the load would soon be lifted.’’ 

It was not long after this that the Hasbrouck House 
at Newburgh became his headquarters, and a little later 
Lady Washington joined him. 

“I wonder if we shall ever have the good fortune 
to meet her, ’ ’ said Virginia, wishfully. 

Catalyntie was doubtful about it. 

“We’ll probably have to content ourselves with 
viewing her at a distance,” she concluded. 

But Lady Washington had heard the story of their 
courage and patriotism, and one morning there came 
an invitation, addressed to Madam Vanderbeek, for the 
three to dine with her at the Hasbrouck House the fol- 
lowing day, and to bring their knitting with them. 

Virginia began to dance. Then suddenly the pirou- 
ette came to a stop. 

“Dear me! I’m almost afraid,” she sighed. “Lady 
Washington sounds so grand and awesome. If she 
were just ‘Mrs.’ or ‘Madam’ I shouldn’t mind. As it 
is, I dare say, I shall stand with my finger in my 
mouth and forget to curtsy.” 

“I’ve no fear of our forgetting our manners,” said 
Catalyntie, “they are too much a part of ourselves. 
But it does make one feel a bit bashful, and I’m glad 
she doesn’t want us to sit with our hands folded.” 

Lady Washington, however, welcomed them so cor- 
dially that their awe vanished like mist in the sun- 
shine, and when she came to them in the little draw- 
ing room they were put still more at their ease, for over 


Lady W ashington 25 1 

her simple gown she wore a large white apron and 
had her knitting-work with her. 

‘‘None of us can afford to be idle in times like these,’’ 
she said, beginning to ply her needles. “There are too 
many tired feet in need of socks.” 

Presently the general came to greet them, and for 
the remainder of the morning he united with their 
hostess in entertaining them, showing them everything 
of interest in the house — a house that with its belong- 
ings was destined to be cherished by the nation as a 
priceless memorial — and relating more than one inci- 
dent connected with it that has since gone into history. 
Then dinner was announced, and though scarcely bet- 
ter than the soldiers’ rations, it was served with stately 
etiquette, while the conversation that seasoned it made 
it for the young guests a never-to-be-forgotten feast; 
and afterward they were taken to the garden, where 
Lady Washington gathered them each a nosegay from 
her brick-bordered flower beds. 

The mansion stood — as it stands today — facing the 
river, and from the stoop they looked out on Fishkill, 
New Windsor, Pollopel’s Island and Mount Beacon, and 
through the wide gateway of the Hudson, while in the 
distance could be seen West Point with its haze-veiled 
heights. 

To Virginia it was a picture that she knew by heart, 
for her father and Jonathan Hasbrouck were old 
friends and the families had often exchanged visits, 
hut it was a picture of which she never tired. Gata- 
lyntie took it in with serene enjoyment, and Madam 
Vanderbeek, beginning to feel aweary, would have pre- 


252 


At the Manor 


ferred a doze in her easy-chair to the finest scenery 
in the world just then; hut Virginians eyes were 
shining and the look on her face made Lady Washing- 
ton ask her thought. 

was only thinking/ ^ said the girl slowly, ‘‘how 
very sorry the British must he to have to give up this 
magnificent country. 

“Sorry very faintly expresses it, my dear,^’ Lady 
Washington answered. “But now that peace has come, 
friendship will follow, and in time they will grow to 
regard America as still theirs — ^just as we think of Eng- 
land and Holland as ours through kinship — and the two 
shall be one people.’’ 

Long years after, when England and America were 
again at war, Virginia and Catalyntie recalled this 
sweet prophecy and wondered sorrowfully if it would 
ever be fulfilled. But at the time they accepted it with 
the unquestioning optimism of youth. 

The presence of Lady Washington at headquarters 
during that gloomy interval when the fate of the new- 
born republic seemed to hang on the dip of the scales 
in Paris, did much to lighten the burdens that were 
weighing on the commander in chief, and he was often 
seen beside her in their modest chariot, with its trim 
postilions, driving along the country roads — word that 
they were approaching being sufficient to draw young 
and old to the front stoops. 

But there were days when the stress of anxiety be- 
came almost unendurable, and he fell into the habit of 
taking long walks through lonely woods and byways, 
seeking in solitude the strength and guidance so sorely 
needed. 


Lady Washington 


253 


One of his favorite haunts was a sequestered nook 
known as ‘‘The Vale of Avoca/^ It was two miles 
or more from headquarters, and Harold and Theodore, 
whenever they found him starting on one of these medi- 
tative strolls unattended, at once constituted them- 
selves his bodyguard, always managing, however, not 
to let him suspect that he was being followed. 

‘ ‘ Quiet as the country-side seems, ’ ’ said Theodore, in 
speaking of it at the manor, “it is possible that some 
of those boasters may be lurking in the neighborhood 
with intent to seize him, and in that out-of-the-way 
spot it might be easily compassed.’^ 

“Oh, do beg him to be careful, charged Virginia, 
in fresh alarm. And had the young knight-errant 
needed any stronger incentive for watchfulness than 
his love for the commander in chief, the anxiety in her 
tender eyes would have furnished it. 

For a time, however, their fears seemed groundless. 
Then, one afternoon as they were returning to head- 
quarters, with Washington pacing deep in thought, 
considerably in advance of them, a young woman 
stepped from the shadow of a copse and begged them 
to let her have an audience with the general. 

“I want to see Mr. Washington himself,^’ she said, 
when Harold asked her errand, and, unable to gain her 
confidence, they at last consented to ask the general 
to grant her a hearing. 

‘Doubtless some petty grievance, complained Ted, 
vexed that the weary chief must be needlessly an- 
noyed. But it was not long before he was taking him- 
self roundly in hand for this harsh judgment, for when 
the girl had gone her way, they learned that she was 


254 


At the Manor 


the daughter of a farmer living in the vicinity of the 
‘‘Vale’' and that she came to warn the general that 
when he went again in that direction an attempt to 
capture him would be made by redcoats lying in wait 
nearby. 

Washington listened to her story with an incredulous 
smile, but she entreated him so earnestly to avoid the 
place that he felt compelled to heed the warning — and 
the plotters were foiled. 


XXXVI 


A STARTLING REVELATION 

It would have been hard to convince the self-elected 
body-guard that the commander in chief had any 
knowledge of their devoted surveillance — they had 
taken such pains to keep in the background — but, 
‘‘whether thus ... or whether not,^’ shortly after the 
strolls to the “Vale of Avoca’’ were discontinued they 
were each presented with a sword by General Washing- 
ton and notified that they had been promoted, Harold to 
the rank of major,* while Theodore succeeded him as 
captain, and when the news reached Oak Glade a little 
celebration was planned. It was the nearest approach 
to anything like a merry-making that the manor had 
known for many a year, and the girls were in high’ 
feather over it. 

“It’s not much we can do in the way of dress,’* 
said Virginia, inspecting ruefully a frayed silk frock 
that had served for best during her sojourn at Cul- 

•The original "Harold,” acting as private secretary for 
Washington at the age of thirteen, while the general was a 
guest in his father’s house, entered the army a little later and, 
reaching the rank of colonel, became aid-de-camp to General 
Greene. For many years the family possessed a sword said to 
be the one that Washington presented to Harold, but the mother 
of Harold’s grandchildren, finding her boys fencing with it, 
and, fearing someone might be injured, hid It in the rag-chest. 
Not long after the rag-man made his semi-annual call and 
when the contents of the chest were bundled into his wagon 
the forgotten sword went with them — never to be restored. 


256 


At the Manor 


pepper Hall, and wondering what could be done to 
renovate it. 

‘‘Really, it is fit for nothing but the rag-bag,’^ was 
her final decision. 

“Wait a minute, deary, said Madam Vanderbeek, 
opening a cedar chest that she had brought with her 
from town at the beginning of the war. “I hardly 
know what is in it, but I have a dim remembrance of 
putting in some lawns and laces that I had no mind 
to let the British appropriate.” 

And presently, having lifted from the lavender-scent- 
ed depths a large paste-board box she displayed two 
gowns of sheer white muslin lavishly trimmed with 
the finest of thread lace, and as fresh as the day they 
were finished. They were so near the prevailing style 
that very little altering was needed, except to let out 
the hems, and when the girls took their places with 
her in the drawing-room to receive the guests, they 
wore neither ribbons nor jewels — nor even a patch of 
court-plaster — a flower or two giving the crowning 
touch to their dainty attire. 

Informal invitations had been sent in all directions 
to relatives and friends, and very few failed to respond 
to them. From Fishkill came Katrina DePeyster and 
the young Englishman to whom she was betrothed; 
from Oak Glade village the Brinckerhoffs and Newlings, 
together with a sprinkling of lads and lassies from the 
neighboring families, while from Newburgh came a 
party of the young officers^ mess-mates. 

Everyone ^s mood seemed in accord with the oc- 
casion, and except that here and there a sleeve hung 


A Startling Revelation 


257 


empty or some young fellow went limping across the 
room on a crutch, it would have been an easy matter 
to forget for the time the deadly conflict that for seven 
long years had been devasting the country. There was 
scarcely a girl in the room that, in her quaint old- 
fashioned costume, was not a picture to delight a 
painter, but Captain Sinclair seemed to have eyes for 
no one but Virginia, and it was only when her father 
managed to engage him in a discussion on England's 
delay in the signing of the treaty, that Theodore found 
a chance to approach her. 

‘‘Whence this ethereal robe?’^ he bantered. 

Virginia gave him a beaming smile. 

“It is Aunt Evelina’s gift, and it’s all that saved me 
from having to appear in homespun.” 

“Aunt Evelina must hold a fairy’s wand to be able 
to furnish material like that in these days,” he said, 
going on with the pleasantry for the sake of keeping 
her near him; “but after all, sweetheart — forgive me 
— I forgot — ^whatever the fabric may be, it is the way 
the gown is worn that gives the charm, and my lady 
hath the way.” 

“0 Ted, Ted. I never thought you would turn 
flatterer,” she scoffed gayly. “You out-do old Colonel 
Culpepper with your gallant speeches.” 

“But truth is not flattery,” he protested, with the 
sweet grave look that she knew so well. “Grace and 
beauty are God’s gifts, to be worn meekly, and with 
due gratitude, and a gown like that is only for the 
pure in heart.” 


At the Manor 


258 

‘ ‘ Dear old Ted ! I do believe Hal was right/’ said the 
girl, her eyes growing soft and serious. 

‘^Has Hal been maligning me?” he asked in a lighter 
tone. Before she could answer him, Captain Sinclair 
was at her side again; and a few moments later, Hal 
and Katharine came to beg her to play a minuet. The 
captain went with her to the spinnet, and soon the 
others— all save the knights of the crutches — were 
stepping off merrily to the old-fashioned measure. 

In the middle of it, Jeems Jubah appeared at the 
door, and with a bow that came near being a salaam, 
ushered in two spurred and belted officers. 

Virginia was seated with her back to the company 
and it was not till a halt in the dance made her turn 
that she discovered the cause of the interruption. Then 
the music came to a stop, and she stood up with her 
cheeks like blush roses, for while one of the new- 
comers was a stranger, the other was — Richard Car- 
roll. 

They were on their way to headquarters, he hast- 
ened to explain, as he presented his friend. Lieutenant 
De Vaux, and having found it impossible to pass the 
manor without stopping for a hand-shake, he had 
persuaded the lieutenant to come with him. But the 
lieutenant averred that no persuasion had been need- 
ed, for he had heard much of Colonel Carroll’s friends 
at Oak Glade, and considered himself favored in hav- 
ing an opportunity to meet them. 

And then, feeling that they were intruders, they 
would have cut short their call, but Colonel Sprague, 
refusing to listen to their protestations, gave directions 


A Startling Revelation 259 

to have their luggage carried to one of the guest- 
chambers, at the same time putting the twins at their 
service as valets. So, not ill-pleased, they followed 
their guides up the wide oak stairs, and when they re- 
appeared in the drawing-room their high-top boots 
and travel- worn uniforms had given place to velvet 
coats and knee-breeches, with silken hose and silver- 
buckled shoes. Two very courtly-looking gentlemen 
they were, with their curled and powdered locks and 
immaculate lace frills; and soon the rest of the com- 
pany gathered about them, forgetful of the unfinished 
minuet, for Richard, with a gift for story-telling, had 
some interesting experiences to relate. 

“But I want you to see some sketches that Lieu- 
tenant De Vaux has made from time to time during the 
war,” he said, at the end of one of his anecdotes. “I 
am sure they will delight you.” And, after a little 
urging, the lieutenant produced his portfolio. 

Catalyntie nipped Virginia’s sleeve. “I do believe 
they are the very ones Harold was telling us about,” 
she whispered. 

“This,” said the artist, “is one that many of you 
will recognize, no doubt, since you have the original for 
so near a neighbor.” And he placed before them a 
life-like profile of Lady Washington. “This, too, how- 
ever imperfect, you will know at a glance,” he said, 
exhibiting a sketch of the general, “for it is a head 
that has no duplicate, and once seen it can never be 
forgotten.” 

Everyone pressed nearer, and the pictures were 
passed from hand to hand with admiring comments. 


26 o 


At the Manor 


There were several battle scenes, but he slipped them 
out of sight and substituted some views on the Hudson. 

*^And here,” he said, “is a very inadequate pre- 
sentment of one of the fairest daughters of the south, 
Miss Eosalind Cuthbert, of Baltimore. No portrait 
could do her justice. I think the colonel will agree 
with me in that. Eh, Richard?” 

Richard, who was standing near Virginia, turned 
with a quick knitting of his brows. 

“You are an artist, lieutenant, and your verdict 
needs no backing,” he said, with a hint of stiffness in 
his manner. 

Catalyntie was holding the sketch at the moment, 
and Virginia leaned over her shoulder with a sudden 
increase of interest. 

“Yes, it would bring fame to an artist — a face like 
that on canvas,” she said, taking it from Catalyntie for 
a closer look. 

“Ay, and she is equally lovely in character,” said 
Richard, frankly. “Some time, I trust, you will know 
each other.” And with a courteous “By your leave, 
lieutenant,” he took possession of the sketch and thrust 
it inside his waistcoat. 

“Ah, but I have a very good copy,” said the lieu- 
tenant, with a lenient smile. 

Happily, it was time for refreshments to be served, 
and Virginia found it a convenient excuse for beating 
a retreat, but she carried herself so bravely that Rich- 
ard never for an instant suspected that his abrupt ad- 
mission had been an unwelcome revelation. 

“Virginia’s spirits seem at high-water mark to- 


A Startling Revelation 261 

night, ’ ’ said Harold, an hour later, laughing over some 
of her merry sallies. 

“Yes, she is doing the honors finely,’^ returned Ted. 
But having witnessed the by-play in connection with 
the sketch that Dick had appropriated, he was con- 
vinced that, for all the surface sparkle, it was ebb tide 
at heart with the little mistress of the manor, and 
though this disenchantment might result in his favor, 
he felt a hot resentment toward the unknown Kosa- 
lind. 

When it came to bidding the guests good-night, the 
young mistress kept up her gentle merriment, even 
while shaking hands with Dick. 

“Well, it went off beautifully,’’ said Catalyntie, 
“and nothing could have been more opportune than 
the arrival of Richard Carroll and that young artist.” 

“Yes,” Virginia acquiesced, cheerfully, “it added 
very much to the pleasure of the company — they were 
so entertaining.” And if she allowed herself to shed 
any tears that night over the discovery brought about 
by the exhibition of Lieutenant De Vaux sketches, 
Catalyntie never knew it, for not the faintest sob was 
audible, and her pillow told no tales; but, lying with 
wide open eyes till long after Cataljmtie lost con- 
sciousness, she took a careful review of Richard Car- 
roll’s friendship, and when she had summed it up, 
she judicially pronounced herself a goose. There was 
no other word that so concisely expressed her esti- 
mate of herself, for, from beginning to end, she could 
not recall a sentence he had uttered that had been in 
any degree lover-like. Even though now and then 


262 


At the Manor 


something of the gallantry of the day had crept into 
his speech, in his attentions he had been simply — 
brotherly — ^jnst that and nothing more. Then she began 
to wonder if he had ever flattered himself that she was 
caring for him overmuch. But she dismissed the 
thought at once — he was too free from conceit to 
imagine anything of the sort — and, though back of all 
her brave philosophy, there was an ache in her heart 
that she could not on the instant will away, for the 
dream had been very dear and sweet, when at last 
she fell asleep, it was with the comforting confidence 
that he would always be her friend. 

In the fall, Theodore, impatient to be at his books, 
asked Domine Rysdyck to become his tutor, and the 
petition was readily granted, for the domine saw in 
it the fulfillment of a long-cherished hope. 

^^It begins to seem as if my prediction might prove 
true,^^ commented Harold. ‘^Ted is surely on the road 
to the pulpit. ’ ' And again, Virginia tried to picture to 
herself Ted’s boyish face looking down on the congre- 
gation from under the sounding-board. 

She rarely saw Kim now, every hour at his command 
being devoted to study, and the feeling grew upon her 
that they had let go hands and were drifting apart. 
Harold, when off duty, was devoting himself to Kath- 
arine, Captain Sinclair had been summoned to Eng- 
land and Catalyntie and David were so entirely suf- 
ficient for each other — lovers of a century ago having 
been not unlike the lovers of today in their happy selfish- 
ness — that, so far as those of her own age went, she 
was practically companionless. 


A Startling Revelation 263 


But with the coming of cold weather, her father, 
still suffering from the effects of his wounds, was 
forced to he so closely housed that she felt it a duty 
to be always with him. And very pleasant he found 
this comradeship, the only drawback being the fear 
that it was taxing her too heavily. 

“Oh, you are not making a martyr of me, daddy, 
dear, not a bit of it,^' she repeated, with a hug that 
crumpled his hair and scattered the powder over his 
velvet doublet. “It is such a treat to have you all to 
myself once more.^^ Besides, she claimed, it enabled 
her to give twice the time to helping Catalyntie on 
the wedding outfit that she could otherwise have given. 
And, usually, while she hemstitched and embroidered, 
— resigned to the conviction that no outfit of the sort 
would ever be needed for herself — ^he would read to her 
from some of his favorite authors. 

So the days wore on, and the little mistress of the 
manor grew in wisdom and in love — ^the love that for- 
gets self and is glad in the gladness of others. 

Catalyntie, meanwhile, was devoting her time to the 
spinning wheel, David having won from her father 
and mother a reluctant promise that the marriage 
should take place as soon as they were re-established 
as 'a family in the city home. 

“And we surely shan^t have to wait long for that 
now,’’ said the young soldier, holding, with willing 
hands, the fleecy skein that Catalyntie was winding. 


XXXVII 


THE RETURN OP THE EXHES 

England, however, showed no wish to accommodate 
herself to fhe wishes of impatient lovers. Summer 
yielded her sceptre to autumn and autumn’s splendor 
of scarlet and gold was fast fading into brown and 
gray, and stiU there came no assurance of the ratifica- 
tion of the treaty. 

“That we have had the manor for our refuge during 
all these years of exile is something for which we can 
never be too thankful,” said Madam Yanderbeek, one 
morning at breakfast, when the wearisome delay was 
being newly deplored. “What we should have done 
without it — God knows ! But it is a crying shame that 
we have been so long defrauded of our homes. Here 
it is November again, with no nearer prospect of our 
having them than there was a year ago.” 

Just then Harold galloped up the driveway. 

“He rides like one that has news to tell!” exclaimed 
Colonel Sprague, snatching his crutch. And with that, 
there was a rush for the porch. 

“Have you heard!” shouted the eager courier, as he 
sprung from the saddle; “a ship has arrived bringing 
word that the signing of the treaty took place in Sep- 
tember. General W'ashington at the Livingston Manor 
at Dobbs Ferry had already arranged with Sir Guy 


The Return of the Exiles 265 


Carelton the terms of the surrender of New York, and 
he is to lodge tonight at the Van Cortlandt Manor 
House. Ah, here’s Ted!” 

^‘An order has been issued,” said Ted, with no waste 
of time on greetings, ‘‘for the forces a/t Fishkill to join 
the commander in chief at once, so we have not a 
minute to lose. But we want our colonel with us,” 
he added, linking his arms in that of his guardian. 
“If not strong enough to go on horseback, you might 
go by carriage. What do you think?” 

“That would do finely,” answered the colonel, his 
face aglow. “But I must have Red Robin to ride when 
we reach the city.” 

“And what is to prevent our going with him?” 
cried Virginia, “Aunt Evelina, Catalyntie, and I? 
That will just fill the two seats, since you boys and 
Uncle Barent are to be with the other officers.” 

“I am afraid it would prove too hard a pull for 
Aunt Evelina,” said Harold. We may have to be 
on the road the greater part of the night. ’Twould be 
hard for you girls, too.” 

“Oh, but we 'are all good travelers,” retorted Vir- 
ginia. “Only think how well Aunt Evelina endured 
the hardships of that southern journey. This will be 
a mere pleasure trip in comparison, and if father is 
equal to it, I’m sure the rest of us can stand it.” 

“Indeed we can,” said Madam Vanderbeek, ignoring 
Hal’s objections. 

“Of course, we must go,” chimed in Catalyntie. 
“What’s the loss of one night’s sleep to people that 
have been sleeping with one eye open for eight yars?” 


266 


At the Manor 


‘‘When a woman says she will, she will, and there 
an end on it,'^ quoth Hal, with a grim laugh. And 
feeling that with three pitted against him, further op- 
position would be a waste of breath, he instructed 
Jeems Jubah to harness White Face and Blinkers with 
all haste and to hold himself in readiness to act as 
coachman. Jeems Jubah was jubilant. 

“Dough we uns couldn’ he’p do de fightin’, dis 
dawky’s gwine to be in at de deaf,’’ he gloried to Sis 
Sue. “ An’ de webcoats once out o’ de countwy an’ 
de fambly no mo’ needin’ we uns to potect ’em, den 
I’s gwine to hoi’ yo’ to yo’ pwomise, honey.” 

“ Dey isn’t gone yet,” returned Sis Sue, “an’ yo’ 
can’t be sahtin’ ’bout nuffin’ befor’ han’ in dis un- 
sahtin wo’l’.” 

“Can’t we uns be ’lowed to gwi along?” begged the 
twins, their eyes bulging with eagerness. 

“Not less yo’ kin gwi on yo’ two feet,” answered 
Jeems Jubah. 

“If we could muster another team, they might go as 
postilions,” said Harold. “There’s no lack of har- 
ness.” 

The twins held a minute’s conference, and took to 
their heels. 

It chanced that scarcely a quarter of an hour earlier 
Jonas Stoutenburgh had stopped at the manor with 
two old wdr horses that he had taken in payment for 
a load of potatoes, tethered to the back of his wagon, 
and the twins were not long in overhauling him. 

“We uns got ’em,” they cried, galloping back — ^not 
on the worn-out war steeds, but on the farmer’s sturdy 


The Return of the Exiles 267 

roadsters — just as Jeems Jubah was putting White 
Face and Blinkers into the traces. 

^‘How came Mr. Stoutenburgh to let you have 
them ? ’ ^ questioned Harold, amazed at their success. 

“We done toF him, Ma^sa HawoF, dat we uns want’d 
de lend ob ’em fo’ two o’ fwee days to he’p tote we 
un’s fambly to Noo Yawk to see de webcoats vatuate, 
an’ he jus’ onhitched ’em widout axin’ no quesions.” 

“Jonas is a patriot,” said Harold, hemming off a 
laugh as he njounted his horse and took Red Robin in 
tow. “And now we must make haste slowly if we 
want them to hold out.” 

“Dat so, Ma’sa Hawol’,” said Jeems Jubah, gather- 
ing up the reins. “De hoss wat stahts in on de gallop 
am gen’ly de one dat kirns out at de tail end.” 

But Madam Vanderbeek and the girls found it hard 
to be patient— Blinkers and old White Face were such 
plodders. 

“If Jeems Jubah would now and then just crack the 
whip over their heads, perhaps it might spur them up 
a little,” urged Virginia — much too tender-hearted to 
want the lash to touch them. 

“Oh, they are doing very well, daughter, consider- 
ing their age,” said Colonel Sprague. “You must re- 
member that, like some of the rest of us, they are not 
as young as they were before the war.” 

Virginia nestled closer to him, all her impatience 
giving place to brooding tenderness. To her he would 
always be young, and she said to herself that she would 
never let him feel that he was aging. She was never 
goizig to marry — she had made up her mind to that — 


268 


At the Manor 


and when they were home again, she meant to devote 
herself to him more zealously than ever. That was to 
be her life work — making him happy. 

Hour after hour the old coach rumbled over the 
rough country roads till even the hardy leaders, in 
spite of the persistent prodding of their riders, began 
to show signs of giving out, and when at last they came 
to a way-side inn, Harold called a halt. Here they 
had the good fortune to obtain a substantial meal and 
four fresh horses. So the remainder of the journey 
was accomplished very comfortably, the occupants of 
the carriage catching frequent naps, and McGowan’s 
Pass was reached the next morning, just as the troops 
that had been stationed there took up the line of 
march. 

Colonel Sprague, mounted on Red Robin, having 
stood the ordeal remarkably well, at once joined his 
fellow officers — all spick and span in their buff and 
blue uniforms — and the carriage followed slowly in 
their wake. 

‘‘Oh! Oh!” ejaculated Madam Vanderbeek, clasping 
her hands in excess of joy. “It hardly seems possible 
that we are actually home again, after being banished 
all these years.” 

“Hi! Dah some o’ de webcoats twyin’ to git off wi’ 
deh lubbage,” called Jeems Jubah from the driver’s 
box; “an’ dey looks mos’ skeered out o’ deh senses.” 

“Well they may” asserted Madam Vanderbeek, 
unable to feel any pity for them. And while she and 
the girls were pressing their faces to the windows, the 
boom of a cannon shook the air. 


The Return of the Exiles 269 

our men firing a salute!’' exclaimed Virginia. 
‘‘Listen! One, two — ” and the triumphant blasts went 
on till she had counted thirteen. 

“Ah,” said Madam Vanderbeek, “the colonies have 
proved for all time the silliness of the superstition that 
thirteen is an unlucky number.’^ 

“And how about the British?” asked Catalyntie. 

“Well,” returned her mother, “if never before a 
bugbear to them, it will be after this, I take it.” 

There was a fresh stir in the crowd ahead of them 
and the three peered out eagerly again. 

“Dey’s beginnin’ to gwi’,’^ shouted the twins from 
their coign of vantage on the leaders. 

Just then Theodore dashed up to the carriage, and 
beside him was Richard Carroll. Sudden and unex- 
pected as the meeting was, Virginia greeted him with- 
out changing color, and Theodore, watching her face 
with his heart in his eyes, felt that he had no longer 
any reason to consider Dick a rival. 

The troops were moving on, and the two officers 
spurred back to their places, Dick bending low in the 
saddle as they turned. 

It was pleasant to meet him again, Virginia said to 
herself, but she was too absorbed in what was going 
on about her to let her thoughts dwell on him, for every 
minute matters were growing more exciting. 

The retreating forces were allowed to take their time, 
orders having been given that they were not to be har- 
assed. As fast, however, as they withdrew from the 
different outposts the conquerors rushed in and ran up 
the American colors, but on coming to the deserted fort, 


270 


At the Manor 


it was discovered that the British flag was still flying 
defiantly above it. 

“Down with it, boys!’’ ordered one of the leaders. 

“Ay! and tear it to shreds!” added someone in the 
excited crowd. 

But to lower it was no easy task, for the red- 
coats, in addition to nailing it fast and cutting the 
halliards, had greased the pole from top to bottom, 
making it next to impossible for anyone to climb it. 

Finally, a young soldier, who had been intently 
watching the others in their efforts to haul it down, 
called for hammer and nails, and by fastening cross- 
pieces to the staff, as he made the ascent, he soon had 
it replaced with the Stars and Stripes. 

^ ‘ Why, that ’s J ohn V an Arsdale, ’ ’ cried Harold. ‘ ' He 
was in our class at the Academy. Three cheers for 
John VanArsdale!” 

But the spectators, needing no spur, were already 
shouting their appreciation of the boy’s shrewdness 
and bravery, and John VanArsdale, on reaching the 
ground, found himself acclaimed a hero. 

To the retreating families, trammeled with their house- 
hold goods, was shown the same kindly consideration ac- 
corded to the others, and it was not till the exodus ceased 
that the procession, with General Washington and Gov- 
ernor Clinton leading it, made its dignified and imposing 
entrance. 

Then the demonstrations began in earnest, and while 
the commander in chief, with his staff, tarried at 
Fraunces’ Tavern to partake of the dinner given in 
his honor by the governor, the freed city, ablaze with 


The Return of the Exiles 271 

fireworks, was resoundmg witk martial music and mili- 
tary salutes. In the delirium of their joy, the people 
paid no heed to time, and night was merging into day 
before the celebration came to an end. 


XXXVIII 


AN UNACCOUNTABLE BLUNDER 

During the slow progress of the carriage through the 
city, Madam Yanderbeek had found an unlooked-for 
opportunity to inspect her dismantled home, the pro- 
cession coming to a stop within a stone’s throw of the 
door. But it was with a sinking heart, that she went from 
one room to another, so disgraceful was the condition in 
which the occupants had left them. In her discourage- 
ment, she came near breaking down, but the throng was 
under way again, and, with Catalyntie and Virginia 
trying their best to cheer her, she made haste to regain 
the carriage. 

Later in the day came the question of lodgings, for 
sleeping in the house was not to be thought of until 
it had undergone a thorough renovation. While 
anxiously discussing the situation, they were joined by 
their old neighbors, the Van Wycks, who, on learning 
their dilemma, insisted on taking theni home with them. 

“Happily,” said the major, “our house, during our 
exile, has been occupied by an English officer and his 
wife, who had the grace to leave everything as clean 
and orderly as they found it. Fine, God-fearing peo- 
ple they were, knowing what was due to themselves and 
to those whose property they were using.” 

“Oh, there are no better housekeepers in the world 


An Unaccountable Blunder 273 


than the English/^ declared Mrs. Van Wyck, except, 
perhaps, the Hollanders,’’ she added loyally, ‘‘and we 
can’t be thankful enough that the house fell into such 
good hands.” 

The next morning Madam Vanderbeek proposed 
starting out with the girls to see what they could find 
in the way of temporary accommodation, but their 
friends refused to limit their hospitality to the one 
night’s need. Until their own house was ready for 
them, they told them, they were to consider their ’s 
their home. Neither would they listen to Virginia, 
when, fearing that they might think her “one too 
many,” she spoke of returning to Oak Glade. There 
was room for all, they assured her, and the fact that it 
was necessary for her father and Harold to remain 
for a time in town, made her more than willing to 
stay. 

One morning their hostess invited them to take a 
drive through the city. It was their first opportunity 
to explore it since their tumultuous entrance, and 
Madam Vanderbeek was overcome by the changes that 
met them on every side. 

“It is hard to believe that this desolate place could 
ever have been our beautiful old town,” she lamented. 
“It will never be the same again — never.” 

“Oh, cheer up, mother,” said Catalyntie, placidly. 
“Our people are too energetic to waste time weeping 
over the ruins. Already they are planning to rebuild 
the burnt district and make it much finer than before, 
so Uncle Henry says, and he says, too, that no doubt 
in time we shall be able to hold our own with Phila- 
delphia. ’ ’ 


274 


At the Manor 


‘^Well, I am glad lie can take so cheerful a view of 
the situation. But your Uncle Henry was ever given 
to looking at the future through a magnifying glass, 
especially where the growth and prosperity of New 
York were concerned.’’ 

“Yes,” said Virginia, “father has always been pre- 
dicting great things for the city, and I’ve often won- 
dered how true a prophet he would prove. Of course, 
it is bound to grow, but I’m afraid it will be many a 
year before it catches up with Philadelphia.” 

“Yes, Philadelphia is far ahead of us in almost every 
way,” Madam Vanderbeek admitted. “Still, New 
York is home.” 

While driving through lower Broadway, Catalyntie 
called attention to the ruins of a fine old mansion. 

“It’s the one Cousin Jane told me she had set her 
heart on buying for Aris and his bride as soon as she 
received her share of the Anneke Jans estate,” she 
said, “and look at it now.” 

“Yes, it would be a poor purchase in its present con- 
dition,” said Mrs. Van Wyck. “She might better buy 
a lot on Beaver street and build a house new from the 
foundation — when she comes into her fortune,” she 
continued, doubtfully. “They say it is going to be a 
hard struggle for the heirs.” 

They were nearing the battery. It was very quiet 
and a soft haze veiled the distance. 

“How blue the water is,” said Virginia. “That, at 
least, hasn’t changed.” 

Mrs. Van Wyck caught the wistfulness in the young 
voice, and called to the driver to stop the carriage. 


An Unaccountable Blunder 275 


‘‘Go take a good look at it/’ she said, “you and 
Catalyntie, and we’ll come back for you presently.” 

“Oh, thank you!” cried the girls, springing down 
without waiting for the steps to be lowered. 

“What joy it is to know that it still belongs to us,” 
said Virginia. “And yonder rides a vessel flying the 
American flag. Isn’t that splendid!” 

“Yes; but what havoc they have made with the trees 
and benches,” said Catlyntie. 

Virginia, scanning the blue expanse, failed to catch 
this lamentation. 

“Not a British sail to be seen,” she exclaimed. 
“Thank God they are gone at last!” 

“Virginia! who comes here?” whispered Catalyntie, 
catching her arm. “What a strange looking man.” 

Virginia at that turned her eyes landward. 

“Why, that’s my giant!” she cried, starting to meet 
him. 

“Don’t! Don’t!” cautioned Catalyntie, trying to 
hold her back. 

“Oh, I know him. He will not harm us,” said Vir- 
ginia. And the next minute, to Catalyntie ’s dismay 
she was fearlessly shaking hands with him. 

declare now, this here’s better luck’n we looked 
for,” he said. “We ’spected we’d have to go up the 
river to find you.” 

“That would have been a long cold journey for 
you,” said Virginia, “and I’m glad I chance to be stay- 
ing in town. This is my cousin, the doctor’s daugh- 
ter.” 

“Wull, Miss,” spoke up the giant, seizing Catalyn- 


At the Manor 


276 

tie’s reluctant hand; ^‘you’ve got a mighty good paw, 
an’ I’m countin’ on goin’ some day to see him to thank 
him agin for all he done for me. The ferry-man tol’s us 
where the house was.” 

‘‘lam sure he will be glad to have you come,” Cata- 
lyntie responded, her heart warming as her fear sub- 
sided. 

Behind him, an elderly woman, short and stout, and 
a tall young girl had waited while he was speaking. 

“Here’s my Myrandy,” he said to Virginia, his 
weather-beaten face lighting up with genuine pride, 
“an’ this un’s our little Doshy. But I’m thinkin’ 
you’d a’ knowd either one of ’em after all I tol’ you 
’bout ’em.” 

The young woman and her mother curtsied with 
awkward shyness, and the giant grinned as he saw 
Virginia’s eyes measure the height of her name-sake. 

“You see she favors her paw mor’n she does her 
maw,” he chuckled. 

“Yes, and I’m sure I should have known her, and 
her mother, too,” Virginia answered, with her friend- 
liest smile. 

“Well, you see. Miss,” said Miranda, “all these years 
I be’n hopin’ to find you, ’specially since my man cum 
home an’ tol’ me how good you was to him when he 
was laid up down south an’ that ’twas you saved Doshy 
from bein’ drownded that time we was here, an’ soon 
as we heard that the country was clear 0’ the redcoats 
we set out to hunt for you.” 

While talking she had drawn from under her shawl 
an ungainly brown parcel tied and retied with heavy 


An Unaccountable Blunder 277 


twinie. ‘‘There’s somethin’ belongs to you, Miss,” she 
said, thrusting the package into Virginia’s hand, “an’ 
we’re migh’y sorry to’ve kep you out of ’em all these 
years, but they -ain’t none the worse for it, for there 
hasn’t a soul used ’em an’ to see you have ’em agin’s 
took a ton weight off my shol’ers. An’ I want to tell 
you. Miss, that my man ain’t no longer in that kind o’ 
business. We’ve got a little farm out in Jarsey that 
use’ to belong to an uncle 0’ mine, an’ he’s that proud 
of it that he’s jus’ knuckled right down to workin’ it. 
An’ las’ week our Billy come home from the war, an’ 
he’s goin’ to farmin’, too. An’ my man’s took to 
readin’ the Bible right along. Miss, ’cause he says you 
tol’ him it was our guide book. An’ he’s foun’ out 
that what you said ’bout this bein’ a free country’s 
true as preachin’ — that it’s a free country for every- 
body ’cept for them that don’t want to do right.” 

Virginia had listened intently, with the package 
hugged to her side, but before she could begin to tell 
them how glad she was, the carriage returned. 

“We ought to give them something to eat,” said 
Catalyntie, under her breath, her conscience pricking 
her for having misjudged them. “They must be hun- 
gry.” 

“Much obleeged to you. Miss,” the giant interposed, 
catching the whispered suggestion, “but seein’ we’ve 
done our errant, we’d best be gittin’ back home.” 

“Then my namesake must take this with her,” said 
Virginia, unfastening a little silver breast-pin that she 
chanced to be wearing, “and some day she must come 
to Oak Glade to see me.” 


At the Manor 


278 

‘‘Now wliat do you say to that, Doshy?’’ cried her 
mother. 

But Doshy was so nearly dazed that she could say 
nothing, and Virginia, remembering that the carriage 
was waiting, hastened the leave-taking. 

“I was sure that he wouldn’t break his promise,” 
she said, as she related the incident to Madam Vander- 
beek, and their hostess, both of whom had watched, 
amused and curious, her parting with the giant and his 
family. And then, too impatient to wait to reach home, 
she began to undo the package. 

“They didn’t intend to have it opened very easily,” 
she commented, with a laugh, trying to steady her 
hands. 

On removing the outside wrapper she read, inscribed 
in large scrawling characters; “To be giv to the rite 
owner wen found,” and she laughed again. 

Another wrapper was pulled off, revealing a paste- 
board box and within this, embedded in layers of 
cotton, was a round morocco case. 

“They surely can’t be small enough to go into that,” 
she faltered, hurriedly unclasping it. And then her 
laughter went to tears, for on the satin lining, in place 
of her cup and spoon lay — a snuffbox. It was a very 
rare and beautiful one, with a cover inlaid with pearl, 
and studded with jewels — but what was the finest 
snuffbox in the world, though royal fingers might have 
dipped from it, compared with her christening gifts?” 

“I’ve always been a little afraid that you were 
putting too much confidence in that highwayman,” re- 
marked Madam Vanderbeek. “Still, it is an exquisite 
piece of work, and must have cost a goodly sum.” 


An Unaccountable Blunder 279 

“Oh! there’s some mistake about it. I’m positive 
he didn’t mean to deceive me,” she said, rallying in 
defense of her friend. And, suddenly, drying her eyes, 
she caught up the case and opened it again. 

“Why,” she cried, “ it is Colonel Carroll’s” — ^she 
no longer called him Dick — “the one he was so sorry 
to lose. Here is the name ‘Richard Carroll, from 
Philip Landhurst.’ ” 

“How very strange!” exclaimed Madam Vander- 
beek. 

“Well, it is something to be thankful for,” said the 
girl, bravely smiling, ‘ ‘ that Richard is to come into his 
own once more.” 

In the evening, Colonel Sprague and Harold chanced 
to drop in on them. 

“Really that’s much better than we had reason to 
expect,” was Hal’s comforting observation, and even 
in her father’s kindly worded regret for her disap- 
pointment, there was an unintentional suggestion of 
a foregone conclusion. 

“Well, pray tell me, if they bept the cup and spoon 
for their worth in silver,” she reasoned, “why would 
they send in their stead anything so valuable as this 
snuff-box?” And none of them could answer her. 

“The natural inference is that somebody has made a 
mix"Up,” said Hal. “But how came the snuff-box in 
•his possession? That’s the puzzling part of it, and, 
all things considered, I must say, my dear girl, it looks 
rather bad for him.” 

Virginia, however, in spite of this reflection, held 
stoutly to her belief that in due time the giant would 
explain the mystery and make good his word. 


AN UNINVITED WEDDING GUEST 


Wihen Harold was going, Virginia commissioned 
him to return the package to Richard. 

‘‘Tell him that I rejoice with him on its recovery,^’ 
she said, “and that I am still expecting to be congrat- 
ulated some day on the restoration of my christening 
gifts.’’ 

Hal puckered his lips to protest again, but decided 
that it was not worth while, and walked off whistling 
“Yankee Doodle.” 

The following afternoon Richard called to express 
his delight in being once more in possession of his 
keepsake and also to say goodby, for in the “Long 
Room” in Fraunces’ Tavern General Washington had 
bidden farewell to his officers, leaving them free to go 
their way. 

“It was a sad parting,” said Dick, “but they are 
bound together in a brotherhood for all time through 
the ‘Society of the Cincinnati’ — thanks to General 
Knox — and that will afford them a reunion now and 
then. Many of them have already started for their 
homes,” he added, “and I go tomorrow, so I have but 
a moment to tarry.” 

An hour passed, however, and still he lingered. 

Catalyntie had gone with her mother to inspect their 


An Uninvited Wedding Guest 281 


house, now nearly ready to be occupied, and, their 
hostess being engaged, Virginia was left alone to en- 
tertain him — a happening with which he had evidently 
no fault to find. 

At last he rose, remarking again that his time was 
limited. But, hat in hand, he halted to beg the priv- 
ilege of writing to her. 

Virginia hesitated. To he/ar from him she assured 
him gently, would always be a pleasure, but, perhaps — 

‘‘Ah, I know,’’ he broke in, “you are wondering 
what my lady Rosalind would think. But her lady- 
ship asserts that her love has undergone a change, 
so our — our — friendship is at an end.” 

“Oh, the pity of it!” deprecated Virginia. And 
from mere girlish pity she might have been tempted 
to grant his request, had not Theodore chanced to ap- 
pear at the door. Richard was brave and good, her 
esteem for him had not lessened in the least — ^but then 
and there it dawned on her that in all the world there 
was no one quite like dear old Ted. 

“Oh, you mustn’t lose faith,” she said earnestly. 
‘ ‘ Some time she will discover her mistake, and you will 
be — lovers again.” 

But Richard, bowing himself out in grave silence, 
mounted his horse with both faith and hope on the 
wane. 

“I’m afraid I interrupted a private conference,” 
said Ted, wondering with a twinge of uneasiness if the 
one that was to “discover her mistake” could be her- 
self. 

“Not exactly that,” she replied, her eyes growing 


282 


At the Manor 


sad. came to thank me for the return of his snuff- 
box and to say that he must be off tomorrow for the 
south, but in some way the conversation drifted to Miss 
Cuthbert, and he told me that she had asked to be re- 
leased from her engagement. ’’ 

‘‘That's it, is it?" said Theodore, beginning to 
breathe freely again. “Well, the woman that turns a 
cold shoulder to Dick Carroll must be mighty hard to 
suit." 

Virginia's eyes were sparkling with amusement now. 

“That is true," she granted, “still I think I know 
of one or two who wouldn't suffer by comparison. 
There's a certain young Englishman, for instance — " 

“Yes, he is a fine fellow, too, but not to be men- 
tioned in the same day with Richard." 

“0 Ted, Ted, what a steadfast and generous friend 
you are," cried the girl, putting out her hands in her 
old impetuous way. And Theodore prisoned them in 
his own, knowing that at last her heart was his. 

“But it will be three years, dearest, before I can be 
ordained," he said, “and it seems hardly right to ask 
you to bind yourself to wait so long. 

“What are three years?" she asked, her eyes like 
stars. “Why, when a woman finds her prince — her 
real prince, dear — she would wait for him a hundred 
years, if need be." 

That night she confided to Catalyntie that she had 
promised to marry her old playmate. 

“I always knew he would be the one," said Cata- 
iyntie, with a sibylline air, “and you have chosen very 
wisely, my dear. There are only two like Theodore 


An Uninvited Wedding Guest 283 

in a thousand, and one of them is — my David. Still, 
I^m not sure that I envy you the position of a domine’s 
wife.’' 

“Oh, I don’t imagine that it is an easy one to fill, 
people are so given to fault-finding and unkind crit- 
icism, and they expect a domine’s wife to be a saint.” 

“The domine himself doesn’t always escape,” said 
Catalyntie. “There are those, forsooth, that must find 
fault with even dear old Domine Rysdyck — a. man so 
godly that you can almost see his wings growing.” 

“Well, perhaps they are born that way and can’t 
help it,” laughed Virginia. 

“Oh, they could help it if they would, but they think 
that the ability to pick a person to pieces is proof of 
superior intelligence.” 

“I’m not afraid for Ted,” Virginia answered, with 
supreme confidence. “When they know how thor- 
oughly good he is, and how tender and considerate 
toward everyone, I am sure they will love him too 
well to be over-critical.” 

By the end of another week the renovation of the 
Vanderbeek homestead was finished, and Madam Van- 
derbeek surveyed with a housewife’s pride the new 
wainscoting, the repaired and polished mahogany fur- 
niture, and the gleaming beauty of the pictured tiles 
that framed the fireplaces, where the blazing logs deep- 
ened the ruddy glow of the freshly painted bricks. 

“Ah, this is home once more,” she said with a satis- 
fied sigh, and when she found herself at her own table 
again her cheeks grew wet with happy tears. 


284 


At the Manor 


The doctor, too, had to brush his handkerchief across 
his ey^es. 

^*No vacant chair, thank God,^^ he said. ‘‘Not many 
families have come through the war so favored in that 
respect.’’ And with the customary “blessing” went 
an outpouring of gratitude to which even Colonel 
Sprague with his crutch beside him gave a fervent 
“Amen.” 

But a disturber of the peace was lying in wait. 
Hardly had they grown accustomed to the blessedness 
of being established again under their own roof-tree 
when David Newling claimed of Madam Vanderbeek 
the fulfillment of her promise. 

“Oh, let him be patient,” said the doctor. “He is 
a worthy fellow and has made a good record as a sol- 
dier. For a son-in-law we could ask nothing better, 
but it strikes me, mother, that he is decidedly selfish in 
wianting to rob us of our little girl so soon.” 

“If I remember rightly, Barent, that is just what my 
father said of a certain young doctor when he came 
a-wooing,” answered Madam Vanderbeek, with a 
dreamy smile. “It is a sort of selfishness to which all 
lovers seem more or less prone, but as David has ar- 
ranged to go into business here we shall still have her 
with us — ^for a time at least.” 

The doctor knew very well that her cheerful resigna- 
tion covered a heart ache and, ashamed to seem less 
generous, he gallantly backed down. 

Meanwhile the little mistress of the manor had begun 
to think it high time for her to be looking after her 
household and when a letter from Sis Sue coyly in- 


An Uninvited Wedding Guest 285 


formed her that ^‘we uns” — Jeems Jubah and herself 
— were hoping for permission to marry as soon as they 
had the family safe home, she decided that she ought 
not to stay another day. 

‘^They have been so faithful, she said, ‘^and have 
waited so patiently for the war to end, that it would 
seem selfish to make them put it off any longer.*^ 

^‘Ay,’’ said Colonel Sprague, ^‘and for a wedding 
gift we’ll present them with their freedom. Mammy 
Ann and the twins, too, shall have theirs, and that will 
put an end to slavery at the manor, forever, I trust.” 

He and Harold were holding themselves ready to 
return as soon as Virginia saw fit to name the day, but 
with the announcement of the concession won by David, 
Catalyntie declared that it would be out of reason for 
any of them to think of going until after the wedding. 
At all events, Virginia would have to stay, for she 
wanted her help — there were so many ^‘last touches” 
needed. 

“Seems to me you are giving your friends rather 
scant notice,” complained Harold. 

“You will have to lay that charge on David,” Cata- 
lyntie answered. “ It is all his doing. ’ ’ 

“Oh, it is a wise arrangement, very wise,” said Vir- 
ginia. “Having it now will save our making two 
trips. ’ ’ 

As for Hal, he would gladly have taken the journey 
twice for the sake of returning with Katharine, but 
since the time was so short and she had Bob there for 
an escort, he could find no valid excuse for starting 
off on the minute. 


286 


At the Manor 


The wedding was to be in the old Garden Street 
church — ^the only church in the city that had not been 
so abused by the enemy as to be fit for service — and 
Dr. Livingston, the only Dutch pastor left, was to per- 
form the ceremony, assisted by Domine Rysdyck. 

*‘We should hardly think ourselves married without 
our domine ’s blessing,’^ said David, who, though of 
Quaker ancestry, had long been a member of Domine 
Bysdyck’s flock. 

‘‘Why not let him do double duty, since we have all 
the family here ? ’ ’ whispered Harold to Katharine, set- 
ting her heart in a flutter with the suddenness of the 
proposition. 

It was the day of the wedding, and she had arrived 
with her mother and Bob the night before. 

“Rob! What are you thinking ofT^ she protested 
when she found her voice. “Why, my spinning and 
weaving are scarcely begun.’’ 

“What difference does that make, dearest? The 
spinning wheels and looms are not going to run away. 
Virginia, come reason with her,” he begged. 

“Oh, I must have at the very least,” she insisted, 
“my wedding gown.” 

But Virginia, always ready to back Hal, succeeded in 
convincing her that what she was intending to wear 
for Catalyntie’s wedding would answer equally well 
for her own. Mrs. Brinckerhoff, too, was finally won 
over, and, to the bewilderment of those that had not 
been let into the secret, no sooner were David and 
Catalyntie pronounced husband and wife than Harold 
and Katharine joined hands and took their place. 


An Uninvited Wedding Guest 287 

‘‘That was very judiciously planned/’ said Colonel 
Sprague, as he greeted his new daughter. “A double 
wedding makes double joy.” 

“Yes, but it involves a double set of congratula- 
tions,” demurred Betty Newling, “and that’s almost 
more than we are equal to, with our breath so nearly 
taken away.” 

Then the others thronged about them, the unexpect- 
edness of the second ceremony unloosing everyone’s 
tongue, and it was a merry company that returning 
from the church gathered in the pleasant old drawing 
room. 

But surprises were not yet ended. Suddenly in the 
height of the festivity, a man that towered head and 
shoulders above the tallest of the guests was seen 
pushing his way across the room toward the corner 
where Virginia sat, and so grim and intense was the 
expression of his face that one and another drew back 
in trembling haste, not knowing what might be the 
errand of this titanic intruder. 

But his sole aim seemed to be to reach Virginia, and 
Theodore — with a vague fear that he meant mischief 
of some sort — stepped in front of her and laid a de- 
taining hand on his arm. 

But the girl sprang up with an exclamation of 
delight. 

“Oh, I knew you would come,” she said. And, with 
that, Theodore comprehended that this was her 
“giant.” 

“Thank the Lord! I’ve found you, little Miss,” the 
man fairly shouted, his countenance lighting up as if 


288 


At the Manor 


he had seen a vision. ^‘Myrandy, she only ’scovered 
yes 'day what she'd gone an' done, an' it putty nigh 
broke her heart. You see our Billy got home from 
camp few nights 'fore we come to town that day, an' 
'thout our knowin' it, he went an’ tucked away a pascel 
he had with him on the same shelf in the closet where 
we kep' yourn, an' that mornin' — ^startin' off 'fore 
sun-up — what should Myrandy do but ketch holt o ’ the 
wrong one. T'other one was give to Billy by a dyin’ 
soldier he’d tried to help, who said he foun’ it on the 
battlefiel' at Monmouth, an' when yes 'day aft 'noon 
Billy went to git it — an off'cer havin' come along that 
said he know'd the owner — ^lo, an' behol', there was 
them traps o' youm a starin’ at him, an' t’other bundle 
nowheres to be seen. Myrandy was that cut up 'bout 
it that I promised her I'd bring 'em to you as fas' as 
I could travel. So here I be, an' this here’s the box 
that b 'longs to you. Miss. There ain't no mistake 'bout 
it this time, but I wisht you’d just ondo it an' see for 
yourself that the things is all right. They've ben a 
milestone round my neck ever since' I fus' tetched 'em, 
an' I hope I've got shook of 'em now for good." 

The package that he had drawn from his blouse, ex- 
cept for being a trifle larger, was almost a duplicate 
of the one that had contained Dick Carroll's snuff-box 
— owing to the latter's double incasement and super- 
fluity of wrappers. 

‘‘It isn't in the least surprising that your little wife 
mistook the one for the other," said Virginia, laughing 
for sheer joy. And heedless of the wonderment of 
those about her she lost no time in opening it. 


An Uninvited Wedding Guest 289 

*‘Ah, look!^’ she cried triumphantly to her father 
and Hal. And as she held up the cup and spoon they 
read on each the inscription: ‘^Virginia Theodosia 
Culpepper Sprague/^ 


(The End.) 


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